


Entanglement

by Kantayra



Series: The Best-Laid Plans (Atobe/Tezuka) [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Courtship, Dating, Flirting, M/M, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9351905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: After their match at Regionals, Atobe infamously courted Tezuka over 17 non-dates before Tezuka finally accepted that, yes, they'd actually been dating all along.An Atobe/Tezuka get-together fic set from Regionals through Nationals during the original PoT.





	1. The Match That Wasn’t a Date

**Author's Note:**

> During the Hyotei training arc right before the Rikkaidai Regionals match, it became officially canon that Tezuka and Atobe were plotting with each other off-screen. Given that their interactions are my favorite thing in the whole series, my mind immediately began trying to fill in these gaps. I concluded from their familiarity that they must be talking fairly regularly and, from my obsessiveness shipperness, that the reason it was all happening off-screen was because they were obviously in _love_. :P
> 
> So I put in a throw-away line in my fic 'Unraveled' that they'd had 17 non-dates before they finally slept together and hoped to leave it at that. But, alas no, my brain doesn't work that way, and I ended up having to write their _entire_ back-courtship, after the fact.
> 
> So here it is, in far too much UST. Chapters will be posted biweekly.

“You,” Atobe said commandingly, towel still draped over his shoulders and looking artfully bedraggled, “didn’t cool down properly after our match.”

Everyone tensed. Momoshiro’s fists clenched, and Kaidoh let out a long hiss, and Inui’s glasses gleamed, and Fuji’s eyes opened, and Kikumaru glared, and Kawamura just looked confused, and Oishi moved to stand in front of Tezuka, and Echizen continued to drink from his water bottle like absolutely nothing interesting was happening whatsoever.

“You’re right,” Tezuka agreed with a sigh, stepping out from behind Oishi. “It wouldn’t do to get careless.”

Oishi gave Tezuka a questioning look, like he suspected Tezuka might not want to sic all of Seigaku on Atobe. Leave it to Oishi to spot nuance where the rest of the team jumped to conclusions.

Atobe continued to stand looking boldly unconcerned in the middle of a very agitated opposing team. “Neither did I. Cool down with me.”

Momoshiro and Kaidoh (and probably Kikumaru) were all on the verge of blurting out something like “how dare you?” but Tezuka cut them all off. “All right,” he agreed, in the interest of not having a war break out between their two teams.

A pleased smirk curved Atobe’s lips, and he turned on his heel to exit the bleachers.

“Tezuka?” Oishi asked once, cautiously, the offer to accompany Tezuka implied.

“It’s fine,” Tezuka assured him and followed Atobe out, although inwardly he did feel some trepidation about leaving Seigaku’s circle of safety.

“I’ll return you to your team by midnight, well before you turn back into a pumpkin,” Atobe said with a wry smile once they were alone.

“Hmm,” Tezuka said coolly, arms crossed over his chest.

Atobe shrugged once, a subtle admission that he just couldn’t help himself, and started off at a slow jog.

Tezuka met his pace and wondered what the hell he was doing. After all, it wasn’t like Tezuka was new to this sort of thing. In fact, it happened all the time: Tezuka had a match against some hotshot player, played like himself, and by the end of the match had turned his opponent so moony-eyed that they started swearing up and down that Tezuka was their eternal rival, their be-all-and-end-all of tennis, and how they never wanted to play anyone else again after having had Tezuka once.

Tezuka, who had never really bought into the whole rivals concept, had become a veritable master of completely ignoring every single would-be rival that fell at his feet. After their match, he expected Atobe to be more dignified about the whole thing (unlike Sanada, who had just been _embarrassing_ ; the stoic ones always were the worst), but it was still the same old story.

Still, for some reason Tezuka didn’t fully grasp, here he was. It was probably because Atobe was still playing him, putting Tezuka in the awkward position of having to agree in order to diffuse the tension between Atobe and the rest of the Seigaku regulars. Probably.

“How’s your shoulder?” Atobe finally asked when their jog slowed to a walk behind the back courts, and Atobe began stretching out his own arms.

Tezuka refrained from testing whether he could lift his shoulder at all. “Hurts,” he admitted.

Atobe narrowed his eyes as he studied Tezuka’s gait. “You’re going to need rehab.”

“Probably,” Tezuka agreed.

“I don’t think you’re permanently damaged.”

“No?”

Atobe let out an exasperated sound. “The next time someone plays chicken with you, try not to accelerate straight into their windshield!” he snapped irately.

Tezuka looked at him levelly. “I had to know whether you were bluffing or if you’d carry through to the end.”

“Of course I wasn’t going to bluff if you were going to try to _call_ my bluff!”

“Even so, I couldn’t just _yield_ to you,” Tezuka concluded. This didn’t seem to be the eternal-rivals speech at all so far which, frankly, was refreshing.

“Well, I hope you didn’t think I would yield to _you_ , just because you were crazy enough to destroy your shoulder like that.”

“No,” Tezuka agreed. “I would have been deeply disappointed if you had.”

“Oh.” The anger seemed to drain out of Atobe. “Well, good.”

“Right.”

Tezuka hadn’t even noticed, because he’d been caught up in the heat of their argument but, by the end of it, they’d ended up nose-to-nose, right in each other’s faces, having moved closer with each response.

Atobe’s eyes widened suddenly as if he’d just realized the same thing, and he sat down abruptly and began stretching his calves. Tezuka followed suit, because it was less awkward than just standing there the way they had been.

“I know a doctor,” Atobe finally said, one leg outstretched, touching his toes.

Tezuka paralleled him with the other leg. “I have a doctor.”

“Not like mine. She’s the best in the world.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Atobe looked Tezuka firmly in the eye, which was also rather refreshing. “I owe you a debt, and I always take responsibility for my actions. This is not about helping you. This is about my honor.” The way Atobe said it, coolly, crisply, let Tezuka know all too well that Atobe wouldn’t back down.

Their gazes locked, unbreakable and unyielding the way their match had been, and Tezuka thought, for the first time, that he understood a little bit what it was like to have a rival. Before, Tezuka had always put his full focus on his opponent for the duration of their match, but once the tennis was over, that focus snapped, and Tezuka’s response to his opponent cooled back down to the general disinterest he felt for most of the population. Now, however, that intense connection lingered, even now that their tie-break had ended, like their match still wasn’t over. Tezuka’s stomach experienced a strange flip-flopping sensation at the thought.

In the past, he honestly hadn’t cared about playing any of his old opponents again. Those matches were over and done with. But Atobe… Tezuka wanted to play Atobe again, badly, right here and now, even though Tezuka’s shoulder ached, and they were both still completely exhausted.

Tezuka honestly had no idea what was different now, except that maybe it was because this time he’d lost, and it had been a very long time since he’d lost a match. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d given everything, all of himself, into a match and just _enjoyed_ letting himself go free and play only for himself, with all his heart, for once.

Atobe’s eyes never wavered from Tezuka’s for a moment and, in fact, seemed to see deeper into Tezuka as time passed, until Tezuka was half convinced that Atobe was reading his mind.

Finally, Tezuka broke away, confused by his own uncharacteristic reaction to the whole situation.

Atobe nodded once. “Good. That’s settled.”

“I’m talking to my doctor first,” Tezuka insisted.

Atobe sighed. “Fine. Do you have a cell phone?”

“What?” Tezuka blinked at the sudden change of topic.

“I want you to call me once you know how bad it is,” Atobe insisted. “I need to know for sure, for my peace of mind.”

“Oh.” That was actually a _reasonable_ reason. “Sorry, no.” And, even if he had, who carried a phone with them in their cool-down sweats, anyway?

Atobe gave Tezuka an annoyed look and then scooted over so that they were sitting side by side, Atobe’s right hip and shoulder pressed up against Tezuka’s left. Tezuka froze wide-eyed at the searing heat emanating from Atobe’s body, combined with what felt like a strange electric tingle that ran down Tezuka’s spine.

Atobe grabbed Tezuka’s right hand with a smirk, “I promise I won’t bite,” and pulled a pen from the pocket of his track pants. Tezuka watched numbly as Atobe wrote out a series of digits over the fleshy part of Tezuka’s palm, just under his thumb.

“What’s your home number?” Atobe asked when he was done, pulling a cell phone out of his own pocket, which answered Tezuka’s earlier question about what kind of person would be crazy enough to have a phone on them even now. “I ignore unknown numbers.” He looked at Tezuka with eyebrow raised, thumb poised over his phone.

Tezuka felt his face heating up, which was just _weird_ and never happened to him. Before he had a chance to think, he’d rattled off his number, which up until that point had been one of his most closely guarded secrets. He never, _ever_ gave out his home number, and most especially not to opponents on other teams. It was one of his never-fail secrets to avoiding obnoxiously persistent would-be rivals.

Atobe grunted with satisfaction as he typed Tezuka’s number in. “Call me as soon as you get word.”

It was a statement, something that _would_ happen even though Tezuka hadn’t agreed and pretty much hated phones in the first place. And the strangest thing was that Tezuka knew exactly how to snub Atobe right now, how to inject just the right tone of cold indifference and disdain to send Atobe (or at least every other hopeful rival Tezuka had ever had) packing, and for some unfathomable reason Tezuka _didn’t do it_.

“Is that a 1 or a 7?” he asked instead, and his cheeks flushed when Atobe grabbed his hand again and wrote over the number, clearly delineating the 7 this time. Tezuka supposed that meant that he’d just agreed to call Atobe, which confused him even more.

Atobe backed off after that and continued stretching, and Tezuka tried not to think about his own disappointment, or how warm Atobe’s body had been, or the strength in his hands when he’d held Tezuka’s, or the way the sweat still beaded on Atobe’s neck until he wiped it dry with his towel once again.

“Are you done stretching?” Atobe finally asked, after Tezuka had forced himself not to dwell too much on how impossibly flexible Atobe was, sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye throughout his own stretches.

“I’m good,” Tezuka agreed.

Atobe offered him a hand up, and Tezuka debated refusing for one moment, but he really didn’t want to put more strain on his aching shoulder, so he finally accepted with his right. Atobe lifted him easily to his feet, which made Tezuka feel oddly woozy for a moment, and that weird jittery feeling in his stomach was back.

“You,” Atobe said coyly as they headed back, parting ways, “are _very_ good.” And he looked Tezuka up and down once, slowly, seductively, decadently, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips when he finally met Tezuka’s eyes. “Call me anytime,” he said huskily and left.

Tezuka stared after him dumbly, mind spinning, stomach butterflies flitting, palm sweating around the number that Tezuka had already committed deeply to memory.

Tezuka had absolutely no idea what was happening to him.


	2. The Phone Call That Wasn’t a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka calls Atobe after their match...and seriously begins to suspect that there's something going on with Atobe that he's missing.

Tezuka glared at his opponent.

His opponent didn’t even react. It was unfair. Tezuka’s glare was well-known for being able to intimidate anything. It had gotten to the point that just Tezuka’s glare was enough for the sub-regulars to start running laps, even before Tezuka told them what their punishment was. _Nothing_ was immune to Tezuka’s glare.

Except, alas, for his parents’ kitchen phone.

Tezuka tried glaring harder, but eventually had to concede defeat. His mother was out shopping, but even with that, he had maybe an hour left to make this call, or else he’d have to wait yet another day and – even worse – officially accept the word ‘cowardice’ into his vocabulary.

Tezuka took a deep breath, dried his palm – which had become sweaty for some inexplicable reason – on his jeans, and began punching in the numbers from memory slowly, methodically, one by one. This was ridiculous, Tezuka concluded, because he was only making a phone call. There was nothing to be nervous about. He certainly wasn’t so shy or uncertain about having _other_ conversations. It was just—

“Tezuka?” Atobe’s voice drawled on the other end.

Tezuka’s hand clenched on the phone.

“Tezuka, I recognize your number. I know it’s you,” Atobe teased after a pause that went on a little too long. “Don’t tell me you’re avoiding me again.”

“Atobe,” Tezuka finally forced out dryly. “Very funny,” he added in the least-amused voice he had (which was exceptionally unamused).

Tezuka could hear Atobe’s sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Tell me,” he said soberly.

Tezuka sat down at the kitchen table, knees feeling unusually wobbly, although thankfully for an actual legitimate reason this time. “I saw the doctor.”

“And?”

“It was about what I’d expected. And what you predicted.” Which was no surprise at all, given that Tezuka had come to trust Atobe’s insight very well after having faced it on the court.

“Hmm.” Atobe paused. “Tezuka, I want you to take me up on my offer.”

The scariest thing was that Tezuka wanted to do that, too. The thought that he might never play again was terrifying, like his entire world was crashing down around him. It would be so easy to just let Atobe fix this, since it was his fault in the first place (mostly). However, Tezuka and Atobe had just met, at least in any meaningful sense, and it was just weird to accept something like this from a fresh acquaintance, like the proper level of intimacy hadn’t been earned yet, breathtaking match aside.

“I don’t know that I can,” Tezuka finally answered, surprisingly honestly.

“What can I do to convince you?” Atobe shot back, as if he had been prepared for exactly this argument.

“I…” Tezuka found himself at a loss for words, undermined by the disturbing sensation that there was something important he just _wasn’t getting_.

“I cannot bear the thought of losing you to this,” Atobe finally confessed softly when Tezuka’s pause had dragged on too long. “Consider it selfishness on my part, if you must, but _accept_.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” Tezuka finally offered weakly.

“What about our match was ‘appropriate’?” Atobe scoffed. “You didn’t care then, and you don’t care now. Show me that same passion again.”

Tezuka’s breath hitched, because there were so few people who could _read him_ like that. Oishi had been good at it, and Fuji, and Inui had finally taken enough notes on him to do it, just a little, and in all those situations, Tezuka had somehow come out at the other end with friends he’d never really intended to make. And now Atobe…

Was the same, only _more so_.

“It’s just not possible,” Tezuka repeated, although he could feel himself wavering.

“Fine,” Atobe sighed. “How can I _make_ it possible?”

It was such an unexpected comment that Tezuka was taken momentarily aback. Atobe didn’t seem to be the type to compromise on anything. “It would have to go through formal channels…” Tezuka said thoughtfully, if only because Atobe was actually willing to work with him on this.

“I’ll have my coach talk to your coach,” Atobe agreed. “We can even get the Junior-High Tennis League’s seal of approval, if that’s what it will take.”

“All right,” Tezuka agreed, his stomach feeling warm at Atobe’s concession. “Do that, and I’ll talk to your doctor. Where’s her office?”

“Munich,” Atobe answered breezily.

Tezuka nearly choked coughing in disbelief.

And then, because Tezuka didn’t already have enough whiplash from the last bombshell Atobe had dropped: “ _Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_ ”

Tezuka’s mind froze for a second, and then spun back into action. “ _Ja, ein bisschen, aber—_ ”

“Not bad,” Atobe switched back to Japanese as quickly as he’d slipped out of it. “You’ll need to practice, though.”

“I can’t just…”

“How badly do you want to play again?” Atobe retorted.

And the answer to that was: infinitely. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to…”

“I can make the travel arrangements. I have an agent.”

Atobe hadn’t said anything outright, but Tezuka was starting to strongly suspect that Atobe was one of those people who _had people_. What was the yearly tuition at Hyotei like, anyway? Tezuka hadn’t really considered it before.

“If I couldn’t accept before…” Tezuka began wearily.

“I’ll run it through the League,” Atobe assured him. “I have several contacts on the Board.”

Tezuka rolled his eyes. Yes, this was definitely a clear pattern of Atobe’s. Ah well, if Atobe could concede on some things, Tezuka could too. “I’ll need to think about it. And, even if I agree, I’ll still need to convince my parents.”

“You’re the responsible sort. They’ll agree. I’ll have materials on the rehab facilities brought around. Those should convince them.”

“And I’ll need to tell my team…”

“Of course,” Atobe agreed. “Do that.”

A long pause followed, and then they both blurted out almost simultaneously: “I’m sorry” on Atobe’s part, and “Thank you” on Tezuka’s.

An even more awkward pause followed.

Atobe finally laughed, a deep, throaty rumble that made Tezuka’s toes curl against the kitchen linoleum. It was reminiscent of the chuckle Atobe sometimes did unconsciously when he’d just won a particularly arduous point. Tezuka thought, stupidly (because who _thought_ that sort of thing?), that Atobe had a very nice laugh.

“You drive me beyond reason,” Atobe finally said huskily on the other end, and Tezuka was starting to suspect that they weren’t talking about rehab or tennis anymore.

“Oh?” he offered, partially terrified and even more curious.

“Do my ears deceive me, or was that an actual invitation, hmm?” Atobe teased.

Tezuka found himself in the very strange position of thinking that Atobe might be flirting with him, but not having any clue how to prove or disprove his theory. And, even more confusingly, he didn’t know which way he _wanted_ to be true. “Maybe?” Tezuka realized, with a start, that he also might/might not have been flirting _back_.

“I want to hear the sound of your voice,” Atobe purred in response, clearly taking that as a yes. “Talk to me.”

Tezuka was at a complete loss for what to say.

“Where are you right now?” Atobe prodded after a beat.

“M-My parents’ kitchen.” Tezuka would’ve gaped at himself for the stammer in his voice, if he were thinking clearly at all right then. “I’m sitting at the kitchen table.” And then: “Why?”

“Because I was hoping you were in a more interesting place than I was, so that I could live vicariously through you,” Atobe said lightly.

“I…see.” Tezuka had no idea what to do in this situation. It was a bit alarming.

“‘And just where are you, then?’” Atobe filled in for him. “Why, Tezuka, thank you for asking. I am currently hiding behind a shed at the most boring tennis club on the planet. I swear, Hyotei has first-years with better footwork. _First-years_! It really was a rather trying affair, until you called.”

 _I almost didn’t_ , Tezuka didn’t quite have the nerve to say, just yet.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t,” Atobe echoed back, eerily.

“I said I would,” which wasn’t exactly true, although it had been strongly implied.

“Yes, but I get the feeling you’re not the sort of person who reaches out much.”

Very, very true. So true that it was baffling to Tezuka that he actually had.

“I’m glad you did, though,” Atobe continued, and then burst into a series of diatribes about school, his team, and which tennis clubs he liked best.

Tezuka realized that they were talking about absolutely _nothing_ at this point, and he should hang up. Yet something stayed his hand, and he just kept _listening_ , as if there was something hypnotic about the sound of Atobe’s voice.

Tezuka came to the creeping realization that he now understood all the previously baffling conversations he’d overheard from his peers about spending hours on the phone. Until now, he’d honestly had no idea how “let’s meet at place X at time Y” or “what’s the homework?” could possibly take hours to transmit. But conversations like this, where Atobe rattled off every stray thought that came through his mind, and Tezuka sometimes even commented on some of them, because Atobe’s mind was new but fascinating to him… These kinds of conversations could easily last hours.

Tezuka started when his mother burst through the door, laden with bags, and Tezuka realized that well over forty minutes had passed, and his neck was starting to twinge at holding the phone to his ear for so long. “I, uh…have to go,” he offered apologetically. “My mom just got home.”

Atobe sighed. “When do you want to meet up?”

Tezuka blinked, because he hadn’t realized they’d even agreed to meet up. However, Atobe had been doing a lot of talking, and Tezuka – uncharacteristically – had been doing a reasonable share of talking back. The usual Tezuka never would’ve agreed to meet up, but the pod-person that Tezuka had seemingly turned into just might have, if Atobe was the one who asked.

“Meet up?” Tezuka asked anyway.

“To brush up on your German before you go.”

Tezuka froze. He had a number of defenses against unnecessary social encounters, but this was a _practical_ encounter, so Tezuka was left helpless to Atobe’s mercies.

“When do _you_ want to meet?” Tezuka asked. One half of him immediately began panicking that he’d lost his mind. The other half couldn’t decide whether he was excited or terrified about what he’d just agreed to. Either way, his palms were sweating again, and he had to pin the phone between his shoulder and ear to wipe the hand that had been holding the receiver dry.

“With you? Always.” Tezuka could _hear_ the smirk. “But I’ll settle for… I’m completely booked tomorrow. The day after? Coffee, say, five-ish?”

Tezuka felt his cheeks doing that stupid heating-up thing again. “Where?”

Atobe proffered the name of a somewhat trendy but suitably quiet café about halfway between Seigaku and Hyotei, quite near the street courts, actually.

Tezuka agreed and said his good-byes (which, he was shocked to learn, could actually take upwards of five minutes when both of them kept delaying on hanging up) and finally escaped to help his mother put away the groceries.

“Who was that on the phone?” she asked curiously, putting vegetables in the refrigerator bin as Tezuka handed them to her.

Tezuka felt his whole _face_ go red.

His mother just blinked at him in surprise. “Not one of your teammates, then?”

“A rival captain.” Tezuka forced himself to maintain his composure, slow his pulse, cool everything down. He cleared his throat. “The one I played last weekend.”

“Oh, that boy.” His mother’s tone was disappointed for a second, and Tezuka realized, with horror, that she’d thought he’d been talking to a _girl_. “It’s nice that you’re friends now. He was very good, wasn’t he?” Tezuka’s mother smiled at him, politely but disinterestedly because she’d never _really_ understood tennis, the way no one else in Tezuka’s family did. 

Nevertheless, a warm contented feeling settled in Tezuka’s stomach at hearing one of his positive opinions of Atobe affirmed. “Yes,” Tezuka agreed, “he was.”


	3. The Coffee That Wasn’t a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Google finally explains basic human emotions to Tezuka. Atobe flirts even more outrageously in German. Also, cherry lip gloss enters the picture.

Tezuka came prepared for coffee. Specifically, he’d undertaken several marathon online sessions in which he’d googled two very important topics: “how do I tell if someone is flirting with me” and “how to flirt.” He was now fairly confident that Atobe was, indeed, flirting with him and that he, unconsciously, had been flirting back.

One section of a very interesting article he’d found on the subject had provided a stern warning against flirting back with someone unless you were actually attracted to them, in the interest of not leading them on. That had provoked _another_ googling session: “how do I tell if I’m attracted to someone?” It seemed Tezuka finally had a diagnosis for his erratic behavior, abnormal temperature fluctuations, and wandering thoughts.

It was almost enough that Tezuka hadn’t come for coffee in the first place. Even without the added complication of Atobe Keigo, his life was falling apart in every meaningful sense. Tennis, his fulcrum, had been stripped from him (by Atobe, no less), and he was seriously considering flying halfway around the world to retrieve it, abandoning his team, his family, his school, and his life (such as it was, without tennis) in the process.

Nevertheless, all those thoughts seemed to pale in comparison to _actually getting to see Atobe again_. He felt some sympathy for his classmates now, who were persistently caught daydreaming in class. Tezuka had never had that problem before, but now he found himself drifting halfway through lectures, remembering the clasp of Atobe’s hand raised high above their heads, and the look of concentration on Atobe’s face when he’d all but branded his number into Tezuka’s palm, and the low rumble in his voice when he’d asked Tezuka for their next meeting. Fortunately, Tezuka was an excellent multi-tasker, and was able to answer his teachers’ questions even while his mind was otherwise absorbed.

Nevertheless, in a show of atypical eagerness, Tezuka arrived at the café early.

Although not early enough, it seemed.

Atobe sat at the best table by the window, phone pressed to one ear as he argued with someone, a circle of books, papers, teacup and teapot surrounding him. He blinked, almost as if in surprise, when he saw Tezuka and gave him a quick wave, before turning his attention toward disengaging from his phone conversation.

Tezuka nodded and moved to sit across from Atobe, placing his order with the waitress while Atobe shut his books, compiled his papers, and hung up. The book that had been nearest to Tezuka wasn’t even in a script that Tezuka could read. Greek, he thought, or maybe Cyrillic.

“Atobe,” Tezuka said.

“ _Guten Tag_ ,” Atobe began, and then went off, in German, at lightning speed.

Tezuka blinked. It had been a very long time since he’d been to Europe, and he hadn’t been watching or listening to enough German programs of late. “ _Slow down_ ,” he requested in German, since apparently they were going straight to the official language of the day. In a sense, it was infuriating because Atobe had him at a disadvantage. Tezuka could barely keep track of Atobe’s flirting in Japanese; in German, Tezuka was hopelessly outmatched. On the other hand, that was what Atobe _did_ : twisted the rules of the game to give himself the advantage. Something inside Tezuka fluttered, a shiver of excitement at the thought of Atobe taking advantage of him.

Atobe paused and, with a nod, yielded to Tezuka’s request. “How well can you speak?” he asked slowly and clearly.

“Enough to get by.” Tezuka’s mind was slowly clicking into gear.

“It’s a good thing we *unknown*. You wouldn’t want to *unknown* so far from home.”

Either Atobe had an extensive vocabulary, or Tezuka’s had atrophied seriously over the years. Tezuka sighed. “I didn’t catch all of that.”

“ _It’s a good thing we hooked up. You wouldn’t want to get careless so far from home_ ,” Atobe translated into Japanese for him.

Oh. Tezuka made special note of the second previously-unknown phrase; he would need that one a lot. The first… From Atobe’s smirk, Tezuka had a sneaking suspicion that there were flirty connotations he wasn’t getting. “It wouldn’t do to get careless,” he agreed, testing out the weight of the vocabulary on his tongue. “And I very much question the ‘hooking up’.”

“You’re saying this isn’t a *unknown*? Tezuka, I’m hurt,” Atobe said with an affected air, not looking hurt in the slightest. Instead, there was a sharp edge to Atobe’s smile, primal and dangerous and… _hungry_.

Tezuka gulped at that last thought. “*Unknown*?” Tezuka repeated.

“ _Date_ ,” Atobe translated.

Ah, yes. That wouldn’t be a word that came up around Tezuka often. Or, really, at all. “You’re…” Tezuka didn’t have the colloquial vocabulary for this yet.

Atobe retorted with several adjectives, many of which included components related to beauty or intelligence, although Tezuka wasn’t sure of the precise nuance of all the compounds.

“…Persistent,” Tezuka concluded. 

Atobe raised an eyebrow that Tezuka knew that word, but not some of the others he’d used. “I’ve been told that persistence is one of my finest qualities.”

“Then whoever told you that is either a liar, a _sycophant_ ,”—Tezuka just stuck the German ending on that word and hoped it was the same, because he had absolutely no clue—“or has never played a 40-minute tie-break against you.”

Atobe looked quite pleased with this. “Why, Tezuka, I do believe you’ve just insulted my father.”

Tezuka blanched, but Atobe just laughed.

“My father would be very proud of you,” Atobe assured him. “Also: ‘tie-break’. How can you possibly know that one but not ‘date’?” Tezuka watched the realization darken Atobe’s eyes. “Oh, of course, you must watch German tennis. Did you catch the Hamburg Masters this year?”

Tezuka nodded and then, because there was no point in practicing his German if he didn’t actually _talk_ , “Mostly sound bites, though.”

“And, apparently, you also know sports-commentating vocabulary along with tennis. But still no ‘dates’?” Atobe prodded.

“I don’t go on dates,” Tezuka insisted.

“Hmm,” Atobe considered him thoughtfully, tapping him bottom teeth contemplatively with one index finger. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

It turned out that ‘ore-sama’ really didn’t translate well into German at all, which gave Tezuka a perverse sense of satisfaction.

“Your *out-speech* is quite good, though. You must have spoken regularly in the past.”

Tezuka frowned at ‘out-speech’ for a moment. “ _Pronunciation_?” he guessed in Japanese.

Atobe nodded. “You’ve been to Germany?”

“Switzerland,” Tezuka corrected.

“Ah. That explains a couple *unknown*,” Atobe realized.

Tezuka blinked questioningly.

“ _Oddities_.”

Tezuka parsed that one out and realized that he should have gotten it from the root. “Clearly, I’ve been watching too much English lately and not enough German.” He fought a twitch of his lips. “It’s unlike me to get so careless.”

Atobe let out a sharp, surprised laugh that caused a couple other patrons in the café to look their way. “Tezuka, *unknown*, did you just tell a joke?”

“*Unknown*?” Tezuka asked suspiciously. The word had a diminutive ending on it.

Atobe smirked at him. “Look it up when you get home,” he teased in a sultry voice.

Tezuka felt his cheeks flush and his heartbeat race. _These are signs of attraction_ , his recent research informed him.

Atobe’s tongue flicked out to catch his bottom lip just once, and then he began the elaborate process of pouring himself another cup of tea from the pot beside him.

Tezuka forced his eyes away from Atobe’s mouth before Atobe caught him in the act.

Fortunately, Atobe was busy stirring his latest cup and seemed to have missed Tezuka’s momentary distraction.

“My family traveled in Switzerland when I was 10,” Tezuka said, simply to fill the space with something other than ‘I can’t stop staring at your mouth.’

“The Swiss Indoors?” Atobe guessed, then frowned. “Not Federer’s best that year…”

“No,” Tezuka said, “not for tennis.”

Atobe looked at him in rapt fascination at this. “Do my ears deceive me, or does Tezuka occasionally do things unrelated to tennis?” he teased, leaning forward on one elbow, chin in palm, eyelashes fluttering in anticipation.

“I, uh, mountain-climb. Some.” Tezuka had no idea what he was doing. Playing tennis with Atobe was natural, talking about tennis with Atobe followed from that, playing Atobe’s endless mind-games was a consequence of the previous two, but talking about random details of Tezuka’s life that had nothing to do with their rivalry? Tezuka didn’t talk about personal things. Ever.

“Some?” Atobe asked skeptically.

“Well, I climbed the Matterhorn, at least.”

“The Matterhorn? At age 10?” Atobe let out another whoop of laughter, and his hand reached across the table to squeeze Tezuka’s for one moment. “Tezuka, you are completely *unknown*.”

Atobe’s hand withdrew of its own accord before Tezuka could decide whether he wanted to pull away or not. The word Atobe had used had the most generic components Tezuka could think of. “Are you going to make me look up that one, too?”

Atobe smiled softly, almost fondly. It curved his lips in a very aesthetically pleasing way. It hadn’t really occurred to Tezuka before now that lips _could_ be aesthetically pleasing, or really that lips were of any interest whatsoever. “ _Above and beyond. Superb. Sublime._ ”

“Ah.” Tezuka felt his cheeks burning and buried his attention into the bottom of his teacup to avoid making even more of a fool of himself.

“*Unknown* like that, and I’ll think this really is a date.”

Tezuka almost asked and then spotted the ‘redden’. _Blush_. If Tezuka was going to speak in German with Atobe often, it would probably be worth picking up some cheesy German romances online. Tezuka blinked and dwelled on that thought. Did he actually want to do this _again_? Admittedly, he appreciated the opportunity to practice. He probably wouldn’t have chosen Atobe himself, if only because Atobe was only to be approached after a skill was perfected, to avoid all incumbent dangers of that sharp, clever, wicked, ~~sexy~~ tongue.

Tezuka faced a moment of indecision, his usual stoicism balanced against the chaos his injury had made of his life, against this silly crush on Atobe that had come out of absolutely nowhere.

And then Atobe matter-of-factly asked, “So, what did you make of the Wimbledon final this year?”

Tezuka frowned, trying to figure out what Atobe’s game was this time.

“I assume you watched it?”

“Of course,” Tezuka agreed and, with only a brief pause, slipped into a conversation topic for which, gratefully, he finally had adequate fluency.

Atobe picked apart Tezuka’s analyses of various points, but there were no more potential innuendoes or incomprehensible compliments, at least not that Tezuka could detect. Atobe had a brilliant mind for tennis, of course, which Tezuka had witnessed firsthand, but it surprised Tezuka how enjoyable it was to argue over strategy and technique with someone just as invested as he was in those things.

As such, Tezuka blinked in surprise when the waitress coughed pointedly beside him.

“I’m very sorry, sirs, but we’re closing,” she said apologetically. It was jarring to hear Japanese again after so long without, although never tiring in the way that foreign languages could be.

Tezuka started at that and checked the time. They had, indeed, talked away the entire evening.

Across the table, Atobe had a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile.

Tezuka made his apologies, and Atobe shoved all his things into his book-bag, and they left the café side-by-side, Tezuka’s heart pounding in his chest.

As they stepped outside, Atobe pulled a small tube from his bag and began applying it to his lips, turning them sleek and shiny. Tezuka blinked in dazed disbelief.

Atobe caught his look and offered the tube to Tezuka, before shifting back into Japanese. Apparently, their exercise for the day was over. “Most people forget about the harmful effects of UV and neglect their lip care in the summer. Do you want some?”

Tezuka blinked some more, this time managing to focus on the tube. It was lip gloss. _Cherry_ lips gloss. _Atobe’s mouth tastes like cherries right now_ , his stupid hindbrain kicked in. Tezuka blushed and looked pointedly away.

“No, hmm?” Atobe teased, his voice warm and rich ~~and cherry-flavored~~ , and returned the lip gloss to his bag. “I suppose you still say that wasn’t a date?”

Tezuka fixed him with a stern, unyielding look.

“So,” Atobe drawled, “do you want to go on a not-date with me again?”

“I…” Tezuka waffled.

“We could practice your German again,” Atobe all but purred. “Who else is so fortunate to have such a talented conversationalist in that very language, who just happens to be completely at your disposal?”

Damn Atobe for making Tezuka think of all the different ways he would very much like to have Atobe completely at his disposal. Tezuka didn’t have time for this. He already didn’t (did) want to leave the country just now, and whatever was developing between him and Atobe just made him even more confused.

“I have team business to attend to before I leave,” he finally said, somewhat reluctantly.

“You haven’t told them yet?” Atobe raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Tezuka admitted with a guilty sigh. “I… It’s difficult.”

“I understand.” Atobe inclined his head almost graciously. “You’re very devoted to your team. They mean a lot to you. It must be hard to leave them at this critical time.”

“It will be for the best,” Tezuka insisted.

“You don’t need to convince _me_.”

Tezuka supposed he didn’t. “So I don’t have time for this,” Tezuka concluded, forcing himself to fortify his stance.

Atobe looked at him in surprise, and Tezuka realized that this was the first time he’d maintained his usual aloofness enough to reject one of Atobe’s advances. Atobe’s unfathomable eyes assessed Tezuka for a moment, before a hint of distance leaked into Atobe’s voice as well.

“Of course,” Atobe agreed. “Your time remaining is limited.” It was true, of course, not that either of them seemed happy about it.

“Yes,” Tezuka agreed, suddenly feeling strangely torn by the necessary practicality of cutting this growing thing between them short.

“Best of luck to you, then. If you need anything else, you have my number.” It was a _platitude_ , of all things, coming from _Atobe_.

“I will,” Tezuka agreed, which was just as much a platitude, if not worse.

“Fare thee well, Tezuka Kunimitsu,” Atobe said pompously and, with a wave, turned down the street toward what Tezuka could only presume was his home.

Tezuka watched him go with a wistful sigh, feeling strangely empty, before heading off his own way.

***

Tezuka looked up the pet name Atobe had called him as soon as he got home, but it wasn’t in his German dictionary. So, he immediately turned to the internet and found out it was something completely untranslatable that meant something along the lines of ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’. Something precious, beloved, cherished.

He lay back on his bed, feeling uncomfortably flushed. Slowly, almost of its own accord, his hand slid down his chest to his stomach, and then beneath the waistline of his pants and boxers. He let out a sharp breath when his hand circled his erection and pulled in a sharp, fast rhythm.

He came almost immediately with a sudden jerk, everything too much for one endless second, and then he fell back down to earth, his entire body liquid, relaxed, and sated.

Apparently, his body hadn’t gotten the memo that he didn’t have time for Atobe just now.

“ _Atobe_ ,” he allowed himself to breathe out in one last uninhibited moment, before he set to cleaning himself up and composing his façade once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS: This is my impression of Tezuka on the the internet:
> 
> WebMD: You have listed the following symptoms:  
> \- Accelerated heartbeat  
> \- Sweaty palms  
> \- Tied tongue  
> \- Frequent blushing  
> \- Preoccupied thoughts  
> \- Persistent erections  
> \- Wet dreams  
> \- 'Atobe has a pretty mouth'
> 
> Possible diagnoses:  
> 1\. You're in love, dumbass! (99.87%)  
> 2\. Athlete's foot (0.11%)  
> 3\. Lupus (0.02%)
> 
> Tezuka: Hmm... Athlete's foot seems plausible...


	4. The Massage That Wasn’t a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter from Atobe's POV. Atobe finally gets Tezuka's hands on his body and approves whole-heartedly.

Atobe lay on his back in the grass, spread-eagled as far as his limbs would allow, and watched the clouds drift by overhead. The day was stifling – unbearable, really – and the clouds so small that their shadows did nothing to alleviate the sun’s baking rays. It was all mildly unpleasant, which suited Atobe admirably at the moment, until a tall, dark shadow blocked half his view.

“What are you doing here?” asked a stern voice, with a delightful low rumble to it that, most days, would’ve gone straight to Atobe’s groin.

Today was not one of those days.

Atobe squinted against the sun and could just make out the outline of borderline-chaotic hair, arms crossed seriously, and athletic legs that went on for miles. With a sigh, Atobe waved a hand generally over and behind his head. “See that fence over there? That’s the back-end of Hyotei’s auxiliary sports campus.”

The shadow shifted somewhat contritely.

“What are _you_ doing here,” Atobe retorted, “Tezuka?”

Tezuka huffed a little. “It’s one of the few parks that’s not…” he trailed off, which was a thing Tezuka did, Atobe had learned, like Tezuka had a set quota of words for the day, and he had to ration them against anything that took too long to say.

“Overrun with people in the summer?” Atobe finished for him wearily.

The shadow nodded. Atobe wished he had brought sunglasses.

“I didn’t realize it was so close to…” Tezuka gestured toward the direction of Hyotei’s main campus, which was several blocks away, but then Hyotei sprawled around like that. All the school’s various acquisitions, donations, and expansions were connected if you knew what you were doing, but most locals who weren’t students at Hyotei never really developed that internal map. Atobe could see how Tezuka would’ve made the mistake.

Atobe also really didn’t care. Tezuka may have been magnificent (enough so to turn even Atobe’s head), but Tezuka had also made the current state of their non-relationship clear after what Atobe had _thought_ was an excellent date. Atobe had a long-standing policy against wasting his time and had concluded that it was best to just cut his loses this time. ~~But, damn, did Tezuka have to look so delicious while being so untouchable?~~

“Well, now you know,” Atobe said and flung one arm over his eyes to block the sun, because it really was unbearable today.

Atobe expected Tezuka to run off after that. After all, Tezuka was in running gear, and the stop-watch on his wrist was still going, so he obviously wasn’t done yet. He’d sounded mildly accusatory like he’d secretly suspected Atobe of ambushing him on his route. This, of course, extended superhuman powers of foresight to Atobe that he would have found flattering under other circumstances.

Atobe’s brain, which never really shut off even when he wished it would, pieced together Tezuka’s train of thought: _Here I am on my run, and there is Atobe sprawled out obnoxiously right in the middle of that field even after I clearly brushed him off, so it must be some elaborate plan to run into me by ‘accident’ and try to seduce me again._

Tezuka, who was possibly even bolder than Atobe under the right circumstances, had to confront the issue head-on, of course, but now that Tezuka’s righteousness had been satisfied, he would return happily(? – even Atobe could only guess wildly at Tezuka’s emotions) to his true love in life: tennis.

Instead, for no reason Atobe could fathom, Tezuka hit the stop button on his watch. “That explains what you’re doing _here_ , but not _what_ you’re doing here,” Tezuka said, somewhat infuriatingly.

Atobe said nothing for a moment, trying not to weigh his options, but that was about as successful trying to turn his brain off. “Sulking,” he finally admitted. “I’m afraid I’m really not in the mood to be witty or charming today. So…” He trailed off, since Tezuka seemed to appreciate that so much.

“I see,” Tezuka said slowly, thoughtfully, the words drawn out long and carefully like there was something deep hidden in them somewhere.

Atobe opened one eye again and was surprised to see Tezuka lowering himself to sit beside Atobe. “What are you doing?” he asked, genuinely baffled for the first time in a very long while.

“Sulking with you,” Tezuka stated matter-of-factly and began methodically untying and retying the laces on one of his running shoes.

Atobe nearly made a comment about asking permission first. But Tezuka was like him: he charged headfirst toward his goal and worried little about what others thought of him in the process. A lesson on proper decorum just seemed amiss, given their respective personalities.

Tezuka didn’t say anything for quite a long time, which wasn’t surprising. Over the past week, Atobe had fed Tezuka an entire line of hints, clues, and other potential conversation starters, but Tezuka had yet to follow up on any one of them. Getting Tezuka to respond was possible, with effort; getting Tezuka to initiate something on his own… Atobe was beginning to wonder if that ever happened outside the tennis court.

But then, improbably, Tezuka asked, “ _Why_ are you sulking?” and Atobe felt his heart flutter in his chest at the curiosity – and perhaps genuine concern? – in the words.

However, that still didn’t change the fact that Atobe was sulking. “Why are _you_ sulking?” he shot back.

Tezuka sighed. “You know why.”

Atobe shut his eyes again. Right, Tezuka’s ongoing tennis angst that was partially Atobe’s fault (although not _really_ , because who went into a critical match like that with such an obvious weakness, and then intentionally sabotaged themselves until the fault snapped?). “Heaven forbid you should ever sulk over anything besides tennis,” Atobe said wearily. When Atobe was on his game, playing with Tezuka was fun. But circumstances had left Atobe feeling exceptionally drained right now, and he really didn’t feel like putting in the effort.

“I sulk about other things…sometimes.”

Atobe snorted.

A pause. “I still haven’t told my team.”

“That you sulk about non-tennis things?”

Annoyance tinged Tezuka’s voice at Atobe’s deliberate obtuseness. “No, that I’m going to Germany.”

It was nice to know that, even at his weakest, he still had the ability to provoke Tezuka. “I’m impressed at your skills of deception.”

Atobe counted to three, waited for Tezuka’s hilarious habit of blushing at all compliments Atobe threw his way, the subsequent weighing of whether he should run for the hills to escape such nefarious flirtation, and finally the calculated response: “I’ve sort of avoided running into anyone on my team, at all, all week.” 

The admission sounded grim, sheepish, and entirely honest. The last was the most unexpected, because Atobe wouldn’t have guessed Tezuka was hiding at all these days. After all, he hadn’t been hiding _from Atobe_. But, Atobe supposed, it made sense. He was an unlikely neutral party in this situation, not tied up in Tezuka’s bewildering and obsessive loyalty to that team. Talking to Atobe was safer, ironically, than Tezuka admitting to his own team that he would be abandoning them.

Atobe debated saying some of this, because it would make him look clever and sympathetic and like-minded, but he’d been doing a lot of that with Tezuka, and as far as he could tell, it wasn’t getting him anywhere. So he kept his peace and waited.

“I’m leaving Sunday,” Tezuka finally said.

“Are you going to even tell them, or are you just going to flee the country and let them find out that way?”

“Of course I’m going to tell them,” Tezuka sounded offended.

“Better hurry up, then,” Atobe said with a shrug.

“Atobe?” Tezuka asked, sounding almost nervous.

Atobe cracked an eye open at that. “What?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” It came out as a demand, which was one of things that had delighted Atobe so much when they’d first met. Tezuka was so cold on the surface, but just under the skin was an ego to rival Atobe’s.

Atobe considered. He respected Tezuka, quite a lot. He enjoyed Tezuka’s company: the constant challenge he presented, and the moments of sweetness when Tezuka opened willingly to him, just a little. He lusted after Tezuka’s body tremendously, although that was almost an afterthought given the comparative rarity of all the rest. However, he didn’t think he quite trusted Tezuka.

The seeds were there: Tezuka had a certain nobility that would prevent him from ever maliciously harming anyone, including Atobe. But, in the end, even Atobe couldn’t read Tezuka’s heart. He had guesses, of course, but wishful thinking was dangerous. Tezuka was just _such_ a closed book, that even Atobe – although he would never admit it aloud – sometimes doubted his own insight.

Atobe would have given everything he had just then for the closeness he pretended was between them to be _real_ , built up over time and work, unshakable and genuine. But, in the end, they weren’t there, and given their current trajectories, Atobe hadn’t the slightest idea when Tezuka would finally snip the still-weak tether that had begun to bind them.

So, Atobe went with ridiculous and flippant and eccentric, which was – admittedly – one of things Atobe did best. Not a lie, of course, but not the real truth either. “I have a cramp in my left calf. It ruined what would’ve been my new 10K personal best.”

Tezuka coughed into his hand, and Atobe _had_ to open his eyes, because he knew a disguised laugh when he heard one, even though Tezuka’s disguise really was exceptional. Atobe’s heart skipped a beat, because these little things were what kept telling him that, yes, Tezuka really was quite interested, even though Tezuka tried to play everything so straight.

Quite a lot of people laughed at Atobe, he knew, because they found him over-the-top. Tezuka was one of the few who’d seemingly been in on the joke from the start. Because the funny thing wasn’t that Atobe was so outrageous: it was that other people actually _believed_ he was that absurd, laughed at him or underestimated him, and then, when they finally faced Atobe across the net, were annihilated by the grueling precision they could never imagine of someone so frivolous. Atobe had first warmed to Tezuka, for real, when Tezuka cut cleanly through all that bullshit without even a second’s hesitation. ‘Are you satisfied now?’ indeed.

“May I?” Tezuka asked almost coyly, eyes lowered, but his hands were already on Atobe’s bare calf, belying the seemingly polite request.

Atobe’s eyes widened, and there was a moment of blessed _silence_ before Tezuka’s thumb neatly, perfectly found the center of the cramp and _pushed_.

Atobe let out a long, ecstatic groan, and his back arched off the ground.

“Are you all right?”

Atobe thought for a second that he had finally lost his mind, because the question came from both sides of him simultaneously, like he was placed between two stereo speakers. One of the voices was Tezuka’s, but the other had come from…

Atobe rolled his neck back and looked upside-down through the fence to the Hyotei grounds. Hisajima from the Student Council was watching Atobe and Tezuka through the fence, looking vaguely concerned; Atobe’s molasses-slow thoughts gradually pieced together that the golf team must be practicing there today.

Tezuka, seemingly unconcerned about their audience, hit the knot again, and Atobe gasped as he felt another sharp spike of pressure against the pain-point, followed by just a hint of release.

Hisajima smirked. “Never mind. The way you shouted out, I couldn’t tell if you were screaming or orgasming. Guess it was the latter.” He waved to Atobe over his shoulder with his golf club as he turned back to his team practice.

“Oh, shut up!” Atobe shouted to Hisajima’s retreating back, and then Tezuka did a very lovely thing with his thumb, and Atobe forgot everything else but _those hands_.

“It _was_ a very ambiguous groan,” Tezuka smirked at him, and Atobe was blown away by the notion that Tezuka even _could_ smirk. And, also, Tezuka was apparently not remotely as reticent about touching as Atobe had suspected. It certainly opened up a number of possibilities…

For now, however, Atobe was content to concede Tezuka’s victory and yield to the glorious hands that were actually doing quite a remarkable job on Atobe’s running cramp. Atobe had written the thing off as one of those obnoxious cramps that could linger a week, but Tezuka’s fingers seemed to be magic.

“Mmm,” Atobe purred in satisfaction as the knot in him unraveled, and pleasure began to predominate. It seemed Tezuka had excellent massage skills in general. Atobe could _definitely_ work with that.

Tezuka didn’t say a word the entire time (possibly his daily quota had finally run out), but he had such a look of intense concentration on his face that Atobe couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

It was quite a conundrum, really. Why was stoic, reserved, repressed Tezuka _touching_ him like this? Was Tezuka suffering deep pangs of regret at not accepting Atobe’s offer of another date? (Unlikely, alas.) Was Tezuka overwhelmed by lust for Atobe’s exquisite body? (Quite likely in general, but Tezuka wasn’t the sort to act upon it.) Was Tezuka really so innocent that he thought of this as a completely ‘appropriate’ sports massage? (Frighteningly plausible.) Was Tezuka trying to signal that he’d missignaled last time and he actually meant to signal that he was interested when instead he’d signaled that he wasn’t interested? (God, Atobe’s brain was getting more convoluted every day…) In any case, Atobe wasn’t about to object to the fact that the gorgeous enigma by his side was making Atobe writhe to the brink of climax.

Atobe lost his sense of time somewhere in the middle but finally came to when, with a pat and what felt like a lingering caress, Tezuka finally let his leg go. Atobe could tell by the angle of the sun that it was getting late.

“I should…” Tezuka was back to trailing off again, and he wouldn’t quite meet Atobe’s eyes. He looked a bit stunned, to be honest, which wasn’t surprising given that Atobe severely doubted that Tezuka regularly took any of his other acquaintances so thoroughly in hand.

“Hmm, you should,” Atobe agreed with his best sexy rumble. He sat up so that he and Tezuka were close now, sides brushing almost as if by accident each time they breathed out together, Atobe facing one way and Tezuka the other.

“I have…”

“You do.”

“And then I…”

“Of course.”

Tezuka met his eyes quickly, so close, and then blushed the way he always did when things got too personal. “We probably won’t see each other again before…”

“No?” Atobe considered the situation very carefully, and then slowly leaned in, giving Tezuka plenty of time to—

Tezuka bolted up like a jackrabbit. “When I get back,” he said seriously, “I want a rematch with you.” And there was Tezuka: cool, calm, and collected again the way he always was with tennis. It had always been clear that tennis was Tezuka’s element in a way that their little budding affair wasn’t.

“Anytime and anywhere you want me,” Atobe agreed huskily.

Tezuka blushed again and then, quite unexpectedly, said, “And maybe then you’ll tell me what was really bothering you today.” He nodded respectfully to Atobe, acknowledging a skillful equal, tennis eyes back on, and took off for the end of his run.

Atobe froze for a moment that Tezuka had actually _realized_ that Atobe was giving him the run-around; _no one_ saw through him like that, not since he could remember…

Then, with a wistful sigh, he fell back into the grass at the impossible, infuriating, brilliant creature who could run hot one minute and so cold the next. Atobe wanted to strangle Tezuka and kiss him and play a rematch with him and never see him again and force Tezuka roughly to the ground beneath him and be so very, very gentle.

Atobe was, unquestionably, in love.


	5. The Goodbye That Wasn’t a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka finally figures out the whole flirting thing. His timing could be better, though (or not).

Atobe had resigned himself to a long, tedious practice when the call came, completely unexpected. Atobe glanced at the number, and his thumb trembled and slipped, and yet his adrenaline was pounding hard and fast enough that he still answered on the first ring: “Tezuka?”

“Atobe?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It is.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight to Europe?”

“Not until this afternoon.”

“I see.”

“I need to talk to you about something. Do you know the courts by the docks?”

“Of course,” Atobe said, and his palms were actually _sweating_ when he hung up.

“‘Atobe, this is Tezuka,’” Gakuto mocked and made kissy faces. “‘Won’t you come over and grip my racket?’”

Atobe swatted at him half-heartedly and gave him 20 laps, which he probably wouldn’t do. Yushi just winked evilly at Atobe when he slipped out of practice not long thereafter.

Atobe had no idea what to expect, though, as his driver dropped him off. This was the first time Tezuka had called him out deliberately. He thought that, after their last meeting, he’d made his romantic interest apparent. However, if Tezuka had come to some kind of decision, the hour of his departure wasn’t a particularly auspicious time.

In fact, the more Atobe thought about it, the clearer the picture became. If Tezuka were to say yes, he’d either have done so already or waited until he got back. Which meant that Tezuka was going to say no, the way he’d tried to after the café, and he thought it best to make a clean break before he left, which really was the least cruel way to do it.

That didn’t lessen the pit of dread in Atobe’s stomach when he caught sight of Tezuka’s lithe form leaning back against one of the dock posts. The wind was playing havoc with Tezuka’s hair (even more than usual), and Tezuka was gazing out over the grey sky and rough sea. He looked so beautiful just then that Atobe’s heart ached.

Then, because Atobe refused to be a coward, he stepped out onto the docks. His footsteps on the planks turned Tezuka’s attention toward him.

Tezuka blinked once at Atobe’s expression, and Atobe could tell from the reaction that he wasn’t hiding his inner turmoil at all. Tezuka’s eyes softened, and Atobe braced himself because this would just hurt worse if Tezuka was _kind_. But then Tezuka uttered the most wonderful words Atobe had ever heard:

“No, I didn’t call you here for _that_.”

It was maze of typical Tezuka-speak vagueness, but the meaning was clear enough: Atobe had been granted a reprieve, more time in this increasingly comfortable middle ground where Tezuka wasn’t accepting his advances but Tezuka wasn’t exactly refusing them, either.

Atobe supposed he was equally bad at hiding his relief, because Tezuka smiled at him in response (an actual _smile_ from _Tezuka_ , be still his beating heart).

“I, uh…” Tezuka looked nervously off to the side, but he wasn’t blushing so that meant he wasn’t thinking about their mutual(?) attraction. Something else, and Atobe could already tell it was going to be good.

“You, uh?” Atobe teased, stepping in closer so that he partly buffered Tezuka against the wind. _That_ earned him a blush.

“I’d like to ask a favor. Of you,” Tezuka added unnecessarily. Tezuka adding _extra_ words was just adorable.

“Hmm? What kind of favor?” Atobe asked in the filthiest tone he could manage.

Tezuka took in a sharp breath – exasperation, Atobe was reasonably sure – and said, “Not the fun kind.”

“But you’re asking me anyway because we’re so _close_?”

Tezuka stared unperturbedly at him.

“Because of our _rapport_?” Atobe teased.

And then, much to his surprise, Tezuka agreed, “Yes.”

Atobe couldn’t help but smile slowly but genuinely. “Anything I can give is yours.”

Tezuka didn’t quite smile back, but there was definite warmth in his eyes for a moment before he turned serious again. “You remember Echizen?”

“Your first-year brat? Attitude problems galore? Hilariously beat Hiyoshi in about 15 minutes? I wasn’t _that_ out of it after our match.”

“What do you think of him?” Tezuka tested, as if he was calculating something very important.

Atobe blinked. “I don’t. Think of him, that is. But since you’re being so serious and secretive: I think he has potential. Maybe dangerously so.”

Tezuka nodded slowly like that was the right answer. “I’ll be away for some time.”

“I’d noticed.”

“Which means I won’t be able to train Echizen properly.”

“Of course not.”

“He is very likely, if not guaranteed, to play Sanada in the finals.”

“Aha, I see where you’re going with this.”

“And Echizen cannot yet match a top-tier player.”

“And here I am, another rare top-tier player, who just so happens,” Atobe draped one arm lazily over Tezuka’s shoulder, “to be wholly yours.”

Tezuka blushed.

Atobe smirked. “Ask me.”

Tezuka opened his mouth to do so.

“Ask me,” Atobe cut in first, “and the debt I owe you is wiped clean. And, when you come back, whole and healthy once more, promise me that your injury won’t stand between us anymore.” Atobe leaned in closer for a moment so that he could feel the bubble of warmth generated by Tezuka’s body heat, and then released him just as suddenly. Bursts of intimacy followed by stretches of propriety seemed to be the best combination for cracking Tezuka’s shell, so far.

Tezuka shut his eyes for a second and took a long, shaky breath. “I promise. Now, will you train Echizen in my absence?” he asked like it was the most important thing in the world, which – to Tezuka – it probably was.

“Yes,” Atobe agreed with a shark smile.

Tezuka looked at him coyly for a moment, under his lashes and over the rims of his glasses, like he wanted to be caught.

“Oh, Tezuka,” Atobe said wearily, “I’m going to miss you.”

“Yes,” Tezuka agreed quietly, which could have been arrogance or could have been a confession, and Atobe wanted to laugh out loud to the universe that he’d finally found someone else who could do both at once.

“I have a little something for you, you know,” Atobe teased lightly, “to remember me by.”

Tezuka froze, eyes wide, clearly convinced that Atobe was moving in for the ~~kiss~~ kill right now. Atobe let the misconception linger for a moment, leaned in close enough that he could hear Tezuka’s sharp intake of breath, and then pulled the phone out of his pocket and slipped it into Tezuka’s hand. Tezuka blinked down at it, confused, maybe even (Atobe hoped) a little bit disappointed.

“International,” Atobe explained. “No exorbitant charges. So you can call me any time you like.”

“I couldn’t possibly…” Tezuka began slowly. His thumb flicked through the menu, and his eyes softened when he saw the preprogrammed contacts. It had been worth tracking down all the Seigaku regulars’ numbers just for that expression. Tezuka scrolled further down and frowned. “But…your number’s not in here?”

“If you want to call me,” Atobe smirked, “you’re going to have to program it in yourself.” There. The gauntlet was laid. _Make a gesture, Tezuka. Show me you want me in your life._

Tezuka paused. He could, of course, wait until they’d parted ways. But then, slowly, he added in a new contact. He had Atobe’s number memorized, just as Atobe had hoped he would. Atobe watched Tezuka hit save. The best part was that Atobe’s name happened to be first in alphabetical order, so he immediately jumped to the top of the list.

“Goodbye, Atobe,” Tezuka said, trying for stoic but coming off more human than he intended.

“Goodbye, Tezuka,” Atobe said back wistfully, “light of my life. To me, every day will be a stormy as this one until you have returned.”

Tezuka looked at him quizzically. “Are you being serious?” he asked, sounding frustrated, of all things. “I can never tell if you’re being serious.”

“I’m being completely serious,” Atobe assured him.

Tezuka didn’t blush, which was surprising. His eyes darted to one side for a moment and then returned to meet Atobe’s head on, locked.

“I thought…” Tezuka began.

Atobe waited patiently, because clearly Tezuka’s words didn’t operate under the same timeframe as everyone else’s.

“I thought, at first,” Tezuka continued carefully, glacially slowly, “that your eyes were black. But, up close, they’re the darkest blue I’ve ever seen. Like this sea.”

Atobe’s heart caught in his throat, and his whole body froze, unable to process an actual _compliment_ from _Tezuka_.

“I will call you,” Tezuka said seriously. “Atobe.”

“T-Tezuka…” Atobe breathed in disbelief.

And the bastard actually _winked_ at him, like he’d known exactly how he was leaving Atobe hanging, and walked away for his flight to other side of the globe.

“Damn it,” Atobe growled under his breath, alone again, pulse beating wildly like an inexperienced schoolgirl. But, oh, what a magnificent rival Atobe had caught for himself this time.


	6. The Long-Distance Call That Wasn’t a Date – Part 1

The phone went off right as Atobe was crawling into bed. With a groan, he debated just ignoring it, but that was his _special_ phone, the one that only people he actually wanted to talk to had the number for. He got up and walked over to the dresser, found the buzzing nuisance, and blinked in surprise at the caller.

After a moment’s pause, he put the call on speaker, falling back onto his bed in the process, the phone landing on the pillow right beside his head.

“ _Long time, no see, beautiful_ ,” he drawled in German.

“Atobe,” Tezuka said in Japanese, “I haven’t heard a word of Japanese all day. Can we please…?”

Atobe graciously complied. “Missing the comforts of home?” He flicked off the lamp on the nightstand and closed his eyes, because he rather liked the idea of talking to Tezuka in the dark of his bedroom, alone at night.

“Perhaps,” Tezuka conceded.

A pause.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Atobe finally asked, because Tezuka often had a hard time getting to these things on his own.

A longer pause.

“Don’t tell me you really did miss me?” Atobe teased.

Tezuka made an annoyed sound. “Did I calculate the time zones correctly? It’s evening there?”

“I was just about to go to bed,” Atobe agreed.

“Oh,” Tezuka said, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “Where are you, then?”

“In bed,” Atobe purred.

“Subtle,” Tezuka’s voice sounded partly chiding and partly amused, in that way that only Tezuka had perfected.

“The truth,” Atobe insisted. “You should ask what I’m wearing next.”

“I think that if I ask that question, this is going to turn into a different kind of phone conversation altogether,” Tezuka concluded, quite shrewdly.

“Hmm, I have no objections. But what kind of conversation do you want this to be? You initiated it, after all.” Atobe was actually quite curious about this; Tezuka didn’t do things – especially things that involved talking to people – for no reason.

“Have you been keeping tabs on Seigaku?” Tezuka asked.

Atobe rolled his eyes. “Hyotei’s been eliminated. Why on earth would I be keeping tabs on Seigaku? Especially when you’re not there?”

“Oh,” Tezuka sounded disappointed.

“Well,” Atobe conceded, “there was some business about a billiards event that resulted in the entire team passing out. And apparently some sort of mass panic attack involving one of your first-years’ rackets being haunted? You know, the usual sort of thing.”

Tezuka said slowly, “I thought you said you _weren’t_ keeping tabs on Seigaku?”

“I’m not. For example, I have no idea what they’re doing this second. Other than the fact that they’re probably all headed to bed at this hour.”

“I see,” Tezuka said, sounding warmly amused.

“And why are you asking _me_ about Seigaku instead of your vice-captain or your other teammates?”

Silence.

“If it’s because you like hearing my melodious voice, you should just admit it,” Atobe teased.

“Perhaps,” Tezuka said again, and Atobe let out a quick gasp. “Talk to me,” Tezuka requested almost plaintively, and Atobe began to seriously believe that Tezuka was genuinely homesick.

“Seigaku beat Rokkaku in the semi-finals,” Atobe offered.

“I heard.”

“Rikkaidai beat Fudomine.”

“That, I hadn’t. But it’s not unexpected.”

“No,” Atobe agreed. “It was a slaughter. Embarrassing, really.”

“Not unexpected.”

“Yukimura’s still out. So your team might, sort of, have a chance, if the line-up comes out reasonably.”

Tezuka made a contemplative noise. “Do you know what’s going on with Yukimura? It’s all been very…”

“Hush-hush?” Atobe suggested.

“Hmm,” Tezuka agreed.

“Rumor from his regulars has it, in order of most likely to least likely, that he either: suffered a seizure during practice one day, started ‘coughing up blood and gross stuff all over everything’, has pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, got ‘cancer of the tennis elbow’, spontaneously human combusted, got face-sucked by the creature from _Alien_ which then latched on to Sanada which is why Sanada’s such a jerk and makes Rikkaidai run so many laps, or – and I quote,” Atobe paused dramatically, “‘Mind your own business, Atobe.’”

Tezuka was silent for a second and then asked skeptically, “How is that last one the _least_ likely?”

“Because Sanada actually thought that I would _do what he said_. The man’s clearly delusional,” Atobe answered breezily.

Something quite a lot like Tezuka trying not to laugh sounded on the other end of the phone, followed by a poor attempt at a polite cough. “I see,” said Tezuka perfectly calmly.

“Whatever the case, Yukimura’s been in the hospital ever since.”

“Fair enough,” Tezuka conceded. “Tell me about something else. Tell me about what you’re doing.”

“I told you, I’m lying in my bed, with the lights turned out, talking to you. I _was_ going to listen to music while I fell asleep, but your voice is so much sweeter,” Atobe drawled out the last part, slow and lazy.

Silence on the other end, and then cautiously, “So, what _are_ you wearing?”

Atobe let out a startled laugh. “Oh Tezuka, not in a million years would anyone believe me if I told them just how incredibly good you are at this,” he sighed contentedly.

“At what?” Tezuka demanded.

“Why, seducing me, of course.”

More silence. “You’re successfully seduced, then?”

Atobe’s heart pounded in his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight and confessed into the dark, “At this moment, I would let you have me in any way you wanted.” He let one hand trail down his chest to rest on his stomach, so close and yet so far from where he wanted it. No, where he wanted _Tezuka’s_ hand.

Tezuka’s sharp breath sounded in Atobe’s ear, and Atobe decided that he rather liked the sound and would prefer in the very near future to have Tezuka’s mouth that close to him (and closer) in bed and not merely over his phone.

“What are you wearing?” Tezuka finally breathed again, demanding this time, which let Atobe know that he’d put Tezuka in just as much a state as Tezuka had put him. Which, of course, was exactly how it should be.

“Ah, my dearest, you caught me just out of the bath.” Atobe’s hand curved over his abdominal muscles, thumb hooking into his navel. “I’m not wearing a thing.”

“I…see,” Tezuka said, which was always his reaction when he was emotional or just plain thrown.

“If you were here,” Atobe asked, low and sultry, “how would you want to have me?” _Please don’t freak out, please don’t freak out_ , Atobe begged inwardly, because he honestly had no idea how Tezuka would react to any of this.

“You’re still in bed?” Tezuka asked after some consideration.

“Yes.”

“Are you on your back?”

“ _Yes_.”

“That’s…good,” Tezuka decided. “I think I’d like you…”

Atobe leaned subconsciously toward the phone, straining to hear the words that Tezuka hadn’t actually spoken.

And then Tezuka, horrible tease that he was, reworded it, to something that flabbergasted Atobe even more: “I think I’d like to get to know you better first, honestly. I feel like we barely even know each other.”

Atobe could count on one finger the number of people who had asked to get to know him better before cutting to the sex. And that list of one included Tezuka.

Atobe had been meaning to address the issue, of course, whether Tezuka cared or not. But Atobe had rather run away with himself what with lying sprawled naked in bed and having Tezuka’s deep voice rumbling in his ear, making such sweet overtures. It had never occurred to him that _Tezuka_ would request genuine intimacy from him, and not just the dirty words that had satisfied all Atobe’s previous lovers.

Tezuka’s request suddenly made this a game worth playing, thoroughly and carefully as their match had been, and so he told his erection to wait its turn (it didn’t listen, as usual) and started their rally: “What do you want to know about me?”

Tezuka paused to consider, and then said, “Anything, really. I…”

Atobe silently counted to ten and waited for Tezuka to decide on his first move.

“How was your day?” came Tezuka’s final decision.

Atobe smirked to himself: simple, basic, and straightforward. He should have expected that Tezuka would test the waters first. “How domestic of you,” Atobe teased, “…honey. Is dinner ready yet?”

“Ha. Ha,” Tezuka said dryly. “You know what I meant.”

“I do,” Atobe conceded magnanimously. “Let me tell you all about a day in my life.”

“Were you going to start soon, or do I have time to run some errands first?”

A shiver ran down Atobe’s spine. “Why, Tezuka, that was downright _catty_. I’m impressed.” Because, yes, this was it. This was the man Atobe had played that day, the one who was just as sharp and vicious and determined and…

“I do my best,” Tezuka said blandly.

Such cold precision… Tezuka really was a rival to be reckoned with, on the court or off. _And he wants to get to know me_ , the stupid part of Atobe’s brain chimed in, which, of course, was a euphemism for his dick.

“Hmm, today was a pretty normal day.” Atobe opened his eyes and focused on the ceiling above his bed, to keep his mind on what he was saying and off his libido. “I train in the mornings.”

“I do, too,” Tezuka said. “Although it’s mostly just cardio these days.”

“Then there’s morning tennis practice. Does your team half-sleep through morning practice, too?”

Tezuka paused, no doubt weighing the strategic dangers of discussing his team’s practice with Atobe. It really was rather adorable. Finally, Tezuka said, “The first-years are the worst. I once caught three of them napping behind the clubhouse.”

“The first-years?” Atobe scoffed. “The _regulars_ are the worst on Hyotei. Gakuto is such a bitch in mornings, you wouldn’t believe. And just try getting Yushi to do _anything_ without coffee. And then, of course, there’s Jiroh…”

“Akutagawa, yes?”

And that was when Atobe realized he’d been rambling about his friends like Tezuka was on a first-name basis with them all, too. Oh well, Tezuka was smart; he could figure it out. “You saw what he’s like during the _daytime_. He’s ten times as bad in the morning.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka said. “I don’t have the same problem with Seigaku’s regulars. Probably because I made them run laps so many times when I was vice-captain last year that they know better than to try.” And then, a sheepish admission: “Echizen is still late to practice most mornings, though. He just shrugs and does however many laps I tell him to.”

Atobe snorted. “A first-year _and_ a regular. The worst of both worlds.”

“Indeed,” Tezuka agreed. “Continue telling me about your day now.”

Atobe laughed. “No offense, Tezuka-dear, but don’t ever try to take up a career in reporting. You make a lousy interviewer.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Tezuka said, sounding wryly amused.

It was actually quite useful hearing Tezuka’s voice alone, Atobe thought. There were little cues in his tone that hinted at his mood. With that stoic mask Tezuka usually wore, the cues were concealed better. But, like this, with voice alone, Tezuka almost sounded…mortal. Touchable.

“School is school, and classes are classes,” Atobe went on. “I’m not really sure what would interest you.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Hmm, Greek probably. Or math. Or any of them, really. I’m not picky.”

“You take _Greek_?” Tezuka asked incredulously.

Atobe sniffed slightly. “ _Everyone_ should take Greek,” he insisted pompously. “It’s a necessary life skill.”

“For what? Outsmarting cyclopes?”

Atobe snickered. “You’re giving yourself away. You’ve read Greek, too, to know that, just not in the original.”

“Fine, point.”

“And it improves all your other European-type languages drastically, especially English. So many derivatives.”

“You speak English, too?” Tezuka asked, and then hastily: “Just how many languages _do_ you speak? And how on earth do you speak them if you _don’t take classes in them_?”

This was better. Tezuka was asking the right sorts of questions now, genuinely interested, feeling out the silhouette of Atobe’s life. Atobe hadn’t decided yet how cautious he was going to be. There were certain topics, like his family’s wealth, that were better dealt with later, in person, where he had all of his senses available to judge Tezuka’s reaction. But he had no desire to be circumspect just now, not when Tezuka was finally starting to come alive.

“The same way you learned German. By visiting them.”

“So you’ve been to…Germany?”

“I have been reliably informed that I was _conceived_ in Germany,” Atobe corrected.

Tezuka was silent for a moment, processing that. “But you were born in Tokyo?”

“No, I was born in Toronto.”

“I…see. And that’s where you learned English.”

“No, of course not. My parents were just in Toronto for business. I learned English when I went to school in London.”

Tezuka coughed in surprise. “Wait, when was _this_?”

“Up until about two-and-a-half years ago, when I moved to Tokyo. Hyotei was my father’s alma mater, so…you know.” That was short-and-easy version, of course; the long-and-messy version could wait for a later time, after they knew each other better.

“All right. So it was Canada, England, Japan.”

“No, no,” Atobe corrected. “It was Canada, Ecuador, Monaco, Germany, UAE, England, Japan.”

A very poignant pause. “Your family must travel a lot. What does your father do again?”

“Oh, you know,” Atobe said vaguely. “Boring business stuff.”

“I… _see_.” Every time Tezuka said it, he was sounding more suspicious.

“England was where my mother first taught me tennis, though,” Atobe continued. “So, really, it’s the only important place on that list, before Japan.”

Tezuka’s voice sounded warm with amusement. “Life begins with tennis.”

“Exactly!” Atobe agreed. “How about you? I know you’ve been to Switzerland.”

“…Taiwan, and Australia. And now Germany. I’m thinking of taking the train to Austria while I’m here. Maybe France… I have a lot of free time now that I can’t practice tennis, and there’s no school.”

“You must be falling behind in your classes, being out of the country so long.”

Tezuka snorted. “Not really. It’s much more efficient just doing all the readings and homework on my own, than sitting through classes listening to the teacher. I’m almost a month ahead now, except for the practical science labs I’ll have to make up when I get back. My teachers even have one of the therapists here proctoring exams for me.”

“If you’re bored, I can send you some French books, supposing you do decide to travel that way.”

“That…would be appreciated. I don’t suppose you speak French, too?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Atobe agreed.

Tezuka sighed. “That’s at least one project, then.”

“You could always learn Greek while you’re at it,” Atobe teased.

“I’ll stick with languages actually spoken in the ATP Tour for now, thank you,” Tezuka said.

“Suit yourself.”

“What else? What do you do at lunch?”

Atobe winced at the very trying lunch hour he’d had that day. “Mostly put out fires in Student Council.”

“You’re in Student Council, too?”

“Tezuka-darling, I’m _president_.”

A pause of surprise (Atobe was reasonably sure). “So am I…”

“Of course, you are,” Atobe agreed lazily. “You’re perfect, just like me. We should form a club, you know.”

“I dread to think what your idea of club activities would be,” Tezuka said with an actual, genuine hint of innuendo.

Atobe sunk into his pillows with a smile. “I don’t know. I think you might enjoy them,” he teased.

“I worry I would,” Tezuka agreed with that shocking honesty of his.

“What’s to worry about?” Atobe asked curiously. “We’re young and beautiful. We’re _meant_ to enjoy ourselves.”

Tezuka let out a long, shaky sigh. “Do you genuinely find this that…easy?” he finally finished, like he’d debated for a long time on that last word.

“No one in their right mind would call you easy,” Atobe conceded. “Well worth the effort, though.”

A moment of silence and then, “I don’t mean like that. I mean…”

Atobe waited and waited and waited some more.

“Do you know what I’m talking about?” Tezuka finally asked, infuriatingly.

“I can think of about forty different things you _could_ be talking about,” Atobe retorted. “You’re going to have to use actual words to narrow it down.”

“Ah,” was the only word Atobe got.

Atobe took a deep breath, reminded himself once again that 1) Tezuka had actually initiated a genuine relationship, over cheap sex, with him, and 2) as he’d just said, Tezuka was entirely worth the effort. So fortified, he began, “You’re clearly torn between me and something else.”

“Yes,” Tezuka agreed.

“The two things you care most about in the world are tennis and your team, not necessarily in that order.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You’re not upset with me for injuring you and endangering your tennis career?” Atobe asked nervously, because if that was it, he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do.

“No,” Tezuka agreed, and Atobe felt relief flooding through his body.

“I do distract you from those things, though,” Atobe went on.

“Too much so,” Tezuka said shakily.

Atobe shut his eyes tight against the dark until he saw stars on the backs of his eyelids, and suddenly he _got it_. “Oh. However much you may want to, you can’t let yourself date me while you still have responsibilities to Seigaku, and Hyotei is one of your major opponents.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka murmured noncommittally.

“Tezuka, you’ve already eliminated us. It’s over.”

“Now who’s being careless?” Tezuka teased.

And Atobe sighed.

“I probably shouldn’t have called,” Tezuka said after a moment.

“Don’t _say that_!” Atobe snapped, suddenly furious. “Don’t you do this to me again! Not when I—” Atobe cut himself off abruptly, because even he didn’t know what he’d been about to say, and that terrified him.

“I…” Tezuka began.

Atobe took a deep breath to compose himself, considered the conversation carefully for one moment, and followed his instincts. “Call me again,” he demanded. “Tomorrow. Same time.”

Tezuka sounded annoyed. “Haven’t you been listening to—?”

“Call me,” Atobe cut him off, “and we’ll talk about whatever you want to. We can talk about tennis, or Seigaku, or me, or you, or whatever you want. I’ll not make a move on you again until you tell me to.”

“But I won’t ever…” Tezuka protested half-heartedly.

“Oh, you will,” Atobe assured him. “After all, have you _seen_ me?”

A quick inhalation of breath, followed by a catch, sounded in Atobe’s ear. It sounded very much like a laugh trying to escape but being held back by Tezuka’s indomitable will.

“Will you call me?” Atobe pressed, already knowing he’d won.

A pause, and then, “…Yes.”

Atobe smiled to himself, victorious and defeated at once, the way only Tezuka could manage. “Have a good day, Tezuka.”

“Good night,” Tezuka said shakily. “Sweet dreams.” And he hung up.

Atobe stretched luxuriously across his mattress, sighed contentedly, and finally touched himself the way he’d been aching to all long. He had very sweet dreams that night, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally succeeded in using the word 'pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis' in a fic. That's one item off my bucket list. :P Coming up with the way various members of Rikkaidai would give Atobe the run-around was almost illegally fun.


	7. The Long-Distance Call That Wasn’t a Date – Part 2

“Good morning,” Atobe’s voice dripped like sweet honey, sending sympathetic vibrations through Tezuka’s bones that travelled all the way down, pooling at the base of his spine.

Tezuka took a deep, steadying breath, grateful that he was alone in his dorm room where no one could see him, and said very carefully, “Good evening.”

“What do you want to talk about today?” Atobe asked, strangely placating.

Tezuka felt a twinge of guilt at that; he would never have asked for this sort of contrition from someone as proud as Atobe. The fact that Atobe had just _given it_ to him willingly, unasked, made Tezuka doubt himself even more than usual (and he’d been doing little _but_ doubting himself these days). The guilt was probably why he said what he did next; temporary insanity really was the only explanation.

“You talked a lot last time. Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?”

Tezuka thought he could hear a hitch in Atobe’s breath, and then a throaty rumble, “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Tezuka took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the view was much the same – the desk of his dorm room with the blank monitor screen in front of him – but his resolve was hardened. “I trust you,” he said simply.

“You are such a manipulative bastard,” Atobe said longingly. “Giving me carte blanche one moment, then tricking me into reining myself in the next. God, I want to play you again.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka said.

“All right,” Atobe said huskily, “we’ll play this game instead, while we wait for your shoulder to recover. Here’s what I want to know.”

Tezuka steadied himself with one palm against the desk.

“The deepest, most important, most _intimate_ fact about you…” Atobe did like to tease things out.

Tezuka’s steadying hand turned bracing.

“How did you learn to play tennis?”

The laugh escaped Tezuka’s mouth before he could stop it. He caught it midway, which resulted in a weird half-laugh, half-choking sound.

“Tezuka?” Atobe’s voice sounded torn between concerned and amused. “Are you all right?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Tezuka managed to growl out, biting his cheek against any further impending laughter.

“Well then,” Atobe said lightly, “will you answer my question, or are you backing out of our little deal?”

Tezuka rolled his eyes, because Atobe couldn’t see him, and it really was the most natural response to many of the things Atobe did. “I’ll answer,” he agreed. It actually wasn’t a bad question. Tezuka didn’t know if Atobe had thought this through or just gotten lucky, but Atobe would be pleased with the results. “I was born knowing how to play tennis,” he answered first, as dryly as he could, just to gauge Atobe’s reaction.

Atobe’s laughter was rich and light, and Tezuka felt something warm settle in his stomach that Atobe _got it_. So many people seemed to be entirely oblivious to his jokes, to the point where most people thought he never told them. Tezuka was discovering that he had a thing for men with esoteric senses of humor and deep-throated laughs ~~and fuckable lips~~.

“Now now,” Atobe chided, his voice warm and lazy, “no cheating.”

“Fine,” Tezuka agreed, half smiling to himself, and began. “I was six.”

“Really?” Atobe sounded surprised. “I was five. I should be beating you by now.”

Tezuka relished that little victory (and even more that Atobe had confided such an imperfection to him). “It was my family’s idea…sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“My mother was concerned that I didn’t engage in any ‘ordinary’ activities. She insisted that I needed to socialize. And get out more.”

“What _did_ you do?”

“Read, mostly. Hiked. Alone, mostly.” Tezuka knew he sounded like a broken record, but – let’s face it – he _did_ sound like a broken record, and Atobe hadn’t objected so far. There were two ways Tezuka could see to play this: try to show off, or be himself. Tezuka opted for the latter, as he always eventually did.

“So your mother, as all mothers have since time immemorial, decided that you needed to get involved in sports,” Atobe concluded.

“Something like that,” Tezuka snorted. “She read a lot of parenting books. A _lot_ of parenting books. A disturbing number, really. She was…very driven.”

“Hmm, I would never have guessed it of a Tezuka,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka conceded the point with a tilt of his head that Atobe couldn’t see, so it wasn’t really a concession at all, that way. Tezuka did enjoy some of the advantages that came of talking with Atobe over the phone; it levelled the playing field between them a fair bit. “After several miserable months with various team sports, my grandfather suggested tennis. It was a sport where I could be on a team and play by myself.”

“I dread to ask: how are you at doubles?” Atobe asked.

Tezuka shuddered. “There are very few things I will not do for tennis. Doubles tests even my dedication.”

Atobe laughed again, and Tezuka’s stomach resumed its idiotic flip-flopping. “Was it love at first sight, then?”

Tezuka’s stomach started doing stupid fluttering on top of the idiotic flip-flopping. Because Atobe’s question was entirely innocuous, but it let Tezuka answer, “ _Yes_ ,” fervently to something else entirely.

“I still can’t believe you got started that late,” Atobe said, seemingly missing the hidden meaning, which didn’t sound like Atobe _at all_ , which in turn meant that Atobe must have gotten it and was purposefully not pressing the point. It made Tezuka’s stupid warm fuzzies turn even _stupider_ that Atobe cared for his feelings like that.

“I was very driven, right from the start,” Tezuka admitted, and then somewhat sheepishly: “Now my mother worries that I spend too much time on tennis and not enough on my future.”

Some kind of reaction sounded from Atobe over the phone, although it was hard to pin down exactly. Surprise? Distaste? Stubbed toe? And then Atobe said breezily, the way he did when his words had much deeper meaning than he wanted anyone to realize, “And here I assumed you were planning to make tennis your future.”

“I am,” Tezuka agreed.

“Hmm,” Atobe said, and Tezuka wondered how many layers down Atobe could read. “Well,” he finally commented politely, “I’m grateful to your mother for her unintended influence, without which we would never have met.”

It sounded like Atobe had come to the same conclusion about Tezuka’s family situation that Tezuka had. Because, of course, Tezuka couldn’t _give up_ tennis, even if his mother was growing increasingly impatient with it. It was startling sometimes just how much he and Atobe saw eye-to-eye on matters. Tezuka had seen it in Atobe during their match, of course, but it was still unnerving. Tezuka had gone so long on his own that it had never really occurred to him before now that another person might _ever_ get him.

“How about you? How did you start?” Tezuka said, feeling a little bit drained at having revealed something deep and important and intimate about himself, despite Atobe’s earlier joking.

“It was my mother, too,” Atobe answered with a warmth that Tezuka hadn’t when discussing his family’s interventions. “She was quite respectable once. Not professional good, but ‘occasional lessons from ex-pros’ good. She taught me the basics. And as it was the only thing worth doing at all the boring clubs my parents frequented…”

Tezuka could fill in the rest of the gaps easily. “And you?” he asked.

“And me, what?”

Tezuka started in surprise. Sometimes he forgot that Atobe actually _couldn’t_ read his mind. “And are you planning to go pro?” he clarified.

“Hmm,” Atobe thought. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

It was a hedge, and a curious one. Atobe generally wasn’t one to doubt his own prowess, especially in the realm of tennis. There must be some conflict, then, similar to the one Tezuka had already made his decision on. Atobe, ironically, was being more indecisive.

Tezuka felt a pang at that. It seemed like such a waste if Atobe didn’t push for the pros. And not only that, Tezuka realized; he would actually be disappointed if he didn’t get to keep playing Atobe. That persistent part of Tezuka’s personality felt the sudden urge to drive Atobe forward, whatever it took, to keep him in the game. Tezuka took a moment to damp that urge, because it was alarming in its intense ferocity, and it wasn’t like there was any force on earth that could make Atobe do something that Atobe didn’t damn well want to.

Still, Tezuka couldn’t just say nothing. “I think I’d enjoy playing you in the pros someday,” he said and left it at that.

Atobe was uncharacteristically quiet at the other end, to the point where Tezuka thought that the call might have been dropped.

“Are you still there?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” Atobe said shakily, “I’m here.”

“Ah,” Tezuka said. “I should hang up soon. I have rehab coming up.” Which was true, although he still had plenty of time. He just didn’t know how to react to the fact that he felt connected to Atobe in ways that really weren’t productive in the long-term.

“How’s the rehab going?”

“Well enough. Slower than I would like.”

“The Regionals finals are next week.”

“I’ll miss them,” Tezuka agreed. “You’ll have to keep me apprised.”

“I could prod your first-year now, into some semblance of order. If you wanted,” Atobe offered deceptively blandly.

“Wait until he’s ready to play seriously,” Tezuka insisted. “If he has to lose to Sanada now, to spur him on to Nationals, that’s the play I’d prefer.”

“Your team won’t like that. They’re very determined to win in your absence.”

“I thought you weren’t keeping track of my team?” Tezuka teased.

“I’m not,” Atobe insisted haughtily. “I just can’t help it if I hear things.”

Tezuka smiled to himself because, although Atobe seemed strangely reluctant to admit it, he was the biggest gossip-hound Tezuka had ever met. _Data players_ didn’t have the inside information that Atobe did, even on seemingly insignificant teams. “I’m in awe at your networking prowess,” Tezuka teased and then, before Atobe could get the last word in, “Goodnight, Atobe.”

“Goodnight!” Atobe said, caught off-guard, and Tezuka left him like that with a contented sigh.


	8. The Reunion That Wasn’t a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka returns from Germany...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are certain scenes I'm skipping over, if only because 1) the anime already showed them, 2) it's boring (for me at least) to rehash the exact scenes/dialogue already shown in the anime, and 3) I couldn't possibly make those scenes any gayer if I tried. The particular scene I'm skipping over here is Tezuka & Atobe's phone call about how Atobe trained with Echizen (while Atobe is naked, wet, and wearing a bathrobe and also flirting about how he's going to beat Tezuka next time).
> 
> So I recommend rewatching the end of episode 114 if you want to see _that_ gayness. Instead, I'll be cutting ahead to Tezuka's arrival back in Japan during the Junior Invitational Selection Camp arc:

With a confused blink at the darkness due to the jarring time shift, Tezuka closed the door to his suite in the coaches’ building at the Junior Invitational Camp. His brain, still half convinced that it was mid-morning, refused to believe his eyes’ input and insisted he be wide awake. Tezuka ignored it (mostly), dropped his bag more inelegantly than he would normally consider doing, and looked for the bathroom to find himself a glass of water, still parched after a long day’s travelling, followed – without even an intervening night – by a second even-longer day proving himself as a substitute coach to Ryuzaki’s group.

There was only one door at the far end of the living area, which Tezuka assumed must be the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and, as Tezuka opened it fully, he reached blindly along the wall for the light switch. The windows, of course, were pitch black at this time of night and were of no help at all.

Tezuka’s feelers to the right of the door failed to find the switch, so he turned to the other side and finally located it.

He flicked the light switch on and blinked twice at the sudden brightness, before his eyes adjusted and he saw the bed for the first time.

Tezuka’s first reaction was that he had somehow mistakenly chosen the wrong room. Because there, lying face down in the middle of the over-sized bed provided, lay a man.

On Tezuka’s second reaction, he _recognized_ the man and berated himself for doubting even for a second. Of course, he hadn’t entered the wrong room; Atobe Keigo had just somehow found a way to break into his room and had commandeered Tezuka’s (very comfortable-looking) bed for himself.

Tezuka froze, wide-eyed, and took in the expanse of Atobe’s long limbs, stretched out to the far corners of the mattress atop the blankets, the graceful arch of his back, and the firm, round globes of his ass laid out like a sumptuous feast. Tezuka felt his pulse racing and his cheeks burning and a very uncomfortable erection stirring to life.

Tezuka promptly focused all his mental energy on quashing that last one, because the only thing more alarming than facing Atobe alone in his bedroom at night was facing Atobe alone in his bedroom at night while he was too aroused to think straight.

Tezuka shut his eyes, took several deep, calming breaths, and felt his visceral reaction begin to subside. In the time they’d been apart, he’d almost forgotten how sharply his body reacted to Atobe’s presence.

Fortified once again, Tezuka reopened his eyes and succeeded in some small measure of dispassion as he studied Atobe’s beauty. 

With a more unbiased eye, Atobe’s flaws started to emerge. His mouth was half open, in danger of drooling onto Tezuka’s pillow, and he had a series of scabs along one calf where it looked like he’d scraped himself taking a dive on the courts, and the arrangement of his limbs really was absurd: half expansive feline and half awkward boy.

Strangely, Tezuka found him even _more_ beautiful with the flaws. An impulse struck Tezuka just then, and he checked it, reconsidered, rechecked, and then decided: _what the hell?_

Slowly he raised one sock-clad foot and half-kicked, half-shoved where Atobe’s butt stuck up just slightly into the air.

Atobe jerked awake with a start, let out a furious growl, and paused suddenly when his flashing eyes caught sight of Tezuka.

Tezuka had one moment of anxiety when he thought that perhaps he’d misjudged the level of familiarity between them, but then Atobe’s eyes relaxed, softened, turned both dark and playful at the same time.

“Goldilocks, I presume?” Tezuka said as coolly as he could in the face of such overwhelming desire.

“Hmm,” Atobe purred and rolled onto his back, one hand beckoning Tezuka in clear invitation, “and would that make you Papa Bear?”

Tezuka caught himself before he could lean in to Atobe’s waiting body. Instead, he settled for sitting on the end of the bed stiffly. “I sincerely hope not,” he said.

Atobe smiled softly, wickedly, at that. “I won’t deny that I’m relieved to hear you say that. Even I don’t know what lengths I’d go to for you, but I’d prefer that particular fetish not be one of them.”

Tezuka snorted and tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was sitting on the same bed as Atobe. “It’s funny,” he said blankly, making as much light of it as he could. “I don’t recall inviting you into my bed.”

“Yes, well, you’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” Atobe yawned with a stretch that caused his shirt to ride up, exposing a sliver of toned muscle. “I forgive you for such a grievous oversight.”

“How generous of you,” Tezuka scoffed.

Atobe shrugged. “Honestly,” he admitted, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just wanted to surprise you. But the other coaches kept you late.”

Tezuka yawned, too. “I noticed. We had to go over all the training schedules so far. I only finally got out of there by reminding them that I hadn’t gotten any rest what with the delay with my layover. It’s been a long two days.”

“Hmm,” Atobe agreed sympathetically.

“So,” Tezuka said, eying where Atobe sat at the head of the bed nervously, “I think it’s safe to say that you surprised me.”

“But a delightful surprise, hmm, coming home to find me in your bed, willing and waiting?” Atobe smirked and scooted closer, and suddenly he was right _there_ , sitting only inches away from Tezuka, the warmth of his body radiating outward, into Tezuka’s very core.

“I…” Tezuka had never felt himself so torn in all his life, between what his mind knew he _should_ do and what every fiber of his being _wanted_ to do.

Atobe’s hand reached out to loop around Tezuka’s back and slowly trace the line of Tezuka’s bad shoulder.

A full-body shudder raked through Tezuka, and before he knew it, he’d leaned in, collapsed, his body resting against Atobe’s, side to side.

Atobe’s breath hitched, and Tezuka could feel Atobe’s heart start to pound through the connection of their shoulders, and then, very carefully, Atobe began to caress up and down the line of Tezuka’s shoulder, shockingly gentle.

“How are you?” Atobe asked softly.

“Tired,” Tezuka sighed. “Jet-lagged.”

“Hmm,” Atobe’s fingers lingered on the fabric of Tezuka’s sleeve, picking at invisible lint.

“I’m down to physio three times a week now,” Tezuka finally added. “There’s this whole scale of recovery. I’m at 5 now, so I can start practicing lightly again. At 7, I can play easier matches. No _real_ matches until I’m at 10.”

“Hmm,” Atobe said again, looking slightly more pleased at this answer, but still seeking more.

“I…” Tezuka finally began to elaborate carefully, because he hadn’t even fully allowed himself to admit this inwardly yet, “was reluctant to come back.”

“Oh?” Atobe’s fingers were stroking his arm slowly now, petting him into a state of relaxation.

“I liked it there. Many of the annoyances I face here…weren’t issues.”

“And am I one of those annoyances?” Atobe asked lightly.

Tezuka considered for a minute. “I’m not sure. You’re…difficult to classify,” he finally settled on.

“From you, I’ll take that as a declaration of everlasting love,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka blushed, because that was frighteningly close to the truth.

Honestly, it had been a relief to be on his own, in a place that had no preconceived notions about who he was or what he should be. He cared for his family, but they could be cloying. And he would do everything in his power for his team, but it was nice to be free of that responsibility, to have some time for himself. And it had been _wonderful_ to be in a place where he didn’t get strange looks for being so intense about tennis. And, he had begun to suspect, where it wouldn’t nearly as much if he decided one day that he’d really rather settle down with another man and not a woman.

Atobe’s hand finally stilled on Tezuka’s shoulder, and Tezuka realized that he’d been quiet for probably too long.

“You must be exhausted,” Atobe broke the silence softly. “I just wanted a chance to see you away from the others.”

“This camp’s going to be busy,” Tezuka agreed.

“Did you even warn your team in advance that you were coming?” Atobe asked.

“…Not exactly,” Tezuka admitted sheepishly.

Atobe laughed softly. “You should probably work on your communication skills.”

“Probably,” Tezuka conceded. It was hard to explain why it was so much easier to just _do things_ and deal with the consequences, than to have to go through awkward, emotional conversations. Really, the world would be so much easier if everyone could just read his mind, the way Atobe seemed to.

“I should let you sleep,” Atobe offered reluctantly.

“Mmm-hmm,” Tezuka agreed lazily. Atobe’s fingers were rubbing little circles into his shoulder now, and the motion was almost hypnotizing, making him realize just how tired he really was.

“Shall I stay or go? Your choice.”

“I want you to stay,” Tezuka confessed wearily, “but you should go. I’m a coach, and you’re a player. It’s hardly appropriate.”

Atobe snorted. “I’m three days older than you, and I’d like to see you try to order me around. Besides, you’re not _my group’s_ coach.”

Tezuka smiled softly to himself, because the logic of the last of it was the only thing that could possibly convince him. “Very clever,” he conceded, “but you’re still a player, and I’m reasonably confident you’re out past curfew.”

Atobe made a face, reached out to cup Tezuka’s cheek for one glorious moment, and then Tezuka felt Atobe’s weight rise off the bed. Tezuka hadn’t even realized until that point that his eyes had closed in response to Atobe’s caress. Of course, Atobe had promised he wouldn’t press for intimacy until Tezuka invited him. Still, Tezuka missed Atobe’s warmth already.

He opened his eyes to see Atobe straddling the window ledge; that answered the question of how Atobe had gotten in, then. “How Shakespearean of you,” Tezuka said wryly.

Atobe smirked at him, said, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and was gone.

Tezuka went to the window in time to see Atobe drop to the lawn (it was only the ground floor) and turn back to blow Tezuka a kiss.

“Tomorrow,” Tezuka agreed with a wistful sigh and watched Atobe vanish into the night, back in the direction of the players’ dorms.


	9. The Torrid Affair That Wasn't a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka begins to develop superhuman powers of denial that they're not actually dating. Because they're obviously actually dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I couldn't let episode 140/141 go unremarked upon. I swear, it's a slasher's dream come true. Atobe is so smitten, I can't even...

In retrospect, Tezuka couldn’t imagine why he’d ever thought Atobe would be _subtle_ about their newfound…whatever it was.

 _Friendly rivalry_ , Tezuka finally decided that first night at the Junior Invitational camp, while Atobe crooned karaoke to him in front of all the players and coaches on the circuit, and Tezuka tried desperately not to blush.

And then, after Atobe challenged Sanada to a tennis duel over Tezuka, and Tezuka watched the spectacular match that ensued for his favor: _It’s just a friendly rivalry._

Echizen had just snorted and commented loudly enough that Tezuka could clearly overhear, “Captain Tezuka better be careful he doesn’t reinjure his shoulder congratulating the winner too vigorously.” It had sounded snide and vaguely insulting the way that only Echizen could manage.

The heated looks Atobe threw Tezuka afterward had even _Oishi_ looking at Tezuka concernedly. “He’s not bothering you, is he?” Oishi asked, sounding worried when their group next resumed training.

“It’s fine,” Tezuka had insisted wearily. “We’re just friendly rivals.”

“Uh-huh…” Oishi said skeptically, while Kikumaru had the gall to actually _wink_ at Tezuka over Oishi's shoulder, knowingly.

Tezuka had given his whole group 30 laps in response and felt much better for it.

It was remarkable really, given that Tezuka’s group and Hanamura’s group theoretically had nothing to do with each other, how often Atobe could happen to drift into Tezuka’s orbit, always with a touch to Tezuka’s arm or shoulder or back, while Atobe discussed something entirely practical.

Tezuka came to realize fairly early on that Atobe was testing the public physical boundaries of their new… _friendly rivalry_.

“By my calculations,” Inui sneaked up behind Tezuka one afternoon, and Tezuka had known that for once it wasn’t Atobe because he hadn’t felt the electric touch of Atobe’s hand against him as he’d sensed the approach, “touching on the arm or hand is acceptable, but grasping is not. Resting a hand or chin upon the same-side shoulder from behind is allowed, but an arm around both shoulders is forbidden. The small of the back is in-bounds, but hips and waist are out; anything _below_ that results in a ninety-minute banishment. Any feedback?”

Tezuka glared at Inui and said “ _No_ ” excessively vehemently.

“Those data are for Atobe, of course. Sanada and Echizen seem to be limited by the usual three-foot personal bubble. Any comments on _that_?”

“Twenty laps!” Tezuka ordered.

“Interesting data,” Inui grinned and ran off with his notebook without even complaining about the injustice.

Tezuka raised his eyes heavenward in despair.

Atobe and Sanada being made representatives had, if anything, just made matters worse.

“And if at all possible,” Coach Sakaki had said after that meeting, with a dry sneer (which, in all fairness, was how Coach Sakaki said _everything_ , as far as Tezuka could tell), “try to prevent another powder keg from exploding at your return.”

“It will be fine,” Tezuka lied blandly.

Tezuka’s continued presence, predictably, did not diffuse the powder keg in the slightest. Sanada kept _looking_ at Tezuka like a mopey puppy-dog because he couldn’t get a rematch yet, and Echizen quickly figured out that he could get on both Sanada’s and Atobe’s nerves by following Tezuka around and monopolizing his time, so much so that Atobe finally ambushed Tezuka in the corridor one day before breakfast and, for one rare private moment, pulled him into the locker room Tezuka had happened to be innocently passing.

“I don’t care if they both want you,” Atobe hissed, pressing Tezuka’s body back up against the door, Atobe’s own body hot and hard against his chest. “You’re _mine_!” At which Tezuka had to fight back yet another delightful full-body shiver.

It wasn’t even fair since, as near as Tezuka could figure, they both wanted _Atobe_ , too. (And when, exactly, had Echizen started flirting with Atobe like that, anyway? Like Atobe was Echizen’s rival now and not Tezuka’s? Tezuka really had been away too long…)

When Atobe had gone, with Tezuka even risking a longing look after him, Tezuka had been startled to notice that Fuji had _just_ stepped out of the shower rooms, and the _smile_ he gave Tezuka was the most terrifying thing Tezuka had ever seen.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Fuji commented evilly, which let Tezuka know all too well that Fuji had overheard Atobe’s possessiveness and noticed Tezuka’s surprising lack of rejection. “Do you think he’s taken?” The last was said with such angelic innocence that Tezuka had to clench his fists.

“Leave him alone,” Tezuka was forced to admit his own returned possessiveness because, if he didn’t, heaven only knew what Fuji would try.

Fuji’s smile just widened, and he said, “Understood,” with a laugh.

By the time the camp ended, Tezuka was more than eager to get out of that small campus with his potential lover, erstwhile would-be rival, protégé, and assorted nosy teammates and opponents. If three was a crowd, 30 was a _nightmare_.

The rumors about their newfound _closeness_ didn’t end with that, of course. It probably didn’t help that the final day of camp, while they were all packing to get back on the buses home, Atobe had sidled up to Tezuka and said loudly, “Now that you’re back, we should meet up sometime. Maybe we could train together?”

Momoshiro and Kikumaru, who were loading all their bags onto the bus, began to do a very bad job of pretending to continue their task while eavesdropping noticeably on Atobe and Tezuka.

Tezuka sighed. “You know very well that I’m only doing cardio at the moment.”

Atobe smiled slowly, lazily. “I can do cardio. You may have noticed that I have excellent stamina.”

Tezuka had definitely noticed.

Atobe gave him a self-satisfied smirk. “You run in the evenings, hmm? Right before you text me every night?”

Momoshiro and Kikumaru somehow managed to trip over each other, leaning in to try to hear every word.

“Hmm,” Tezuka agreed, giving Atobe a _look_ , which just made Atobe smile like a cat that had knocked over the cream and lapped it all up. Tezuka desperately tried not to think too much about that simile and fled onto the bus.

Thus Tezuka wasn’t surprised, when he headed out for his run that evening on his first night back home, to see Atobe stretching outside his front gate, using the step there as a makeshift calf-raise.

Atobe was only wearing a tank top and a pair of very short track shorts. The fact that Tezuka was wearing the same was immaterial; it was clearly a deliberate provocation, because how could any man in his right mind resist shoulders like _those_? Tezuka froze in a stupor for a second at the exquisite toned beauty of Atobe's shoulders…and arms, and legs, and – when Atobe blatantly lifted his shirt to swipe at the sweat on his forehead – abdominal muscles that Tezuka would kill to be able to lick just once.

“Coming?” Atobe asked slyly, and it was _so_ over-the-top that Tezuka, instead of spontaneously doing so, had to fake a cough quickly to cover up his laugh.

“I never told you where I lived,” Tezuka said when he’d recovered himself enough to speak.

“No,” Atobe agreed, looking even smugger, “you didn’t.”

Tezuka let out a deep sigh because there really was no other response. “Let’s go,” he finally agreed.

“Let’s.”

Tezuka was pleased to note that, as a running companion, Atobe was actually quite excellent. He and Tezuka were close enough in height that their stride length was similar, they kept nearly equal pace, and – true to his word – Atobe’s endurance was excellent. Whenever Tezuka caught his will even starting to waver, he just looked over at the determination on Atobe’s face, and Tezuka immediately found the drive to go on because he couldn’t let Atobe _beat him_ , no matter how tired he was.

They reached Tezuka’s 10K break-point in the third fastest time Tezuka had ever recorded. Tezuka even offered Atobe use of the drinking fountain first, with a sweeping little gesture that made _Atobe_ blush. Tezuka made note to attempt that sort of thing in the future: revenge was delicious, as was that alluring pink color in Atobe’s cheeks.

Tezuka tried to take his pulse, but his heart was doing stupid, confusing flip-flopping things again, so he gave up rather quickly, and accepted Atobe’s place at the drinking fountain once Atobe was done.

“Back again?” Atobe asked with a breathy gasp and a sharp smile.

“Again,” Tezuka agreed, and forgot not to smile openly.

The next morning it was _all over_ Seigaku. Tezuka learned quickly, despite the fact that sub-regulars tried poorly only to repeat the rumors where Tezuka couldn’t hear, that apparently he and Atobe had been holding hands, kissing, and apparently one of them had proposed to the other right in the middle of the park, although different rumors varied on who exactly had proposed to whom.

Tezuka sighed, stalked through practice until he’d tracked down the original source of the rumor, and held Ikeda by the collar before the whole team at the final meeting before practice was let out.

“Tell everyone what you _actually_ saw,” Tezuka demanded.

Ikeda squeaked and said, “They were just running. And then they took a drink at the drinking fountain.”

“And?” Tezuka demanded.

“That was it,” Ikeda informed everyone, “honestly.”

“Atobe and I are just friendly rivals,” Tezuka insisted, thankful that it was sort of the truth.

Everyone deflated, and the rumor fizzled after that, because apparently one of the second-years had seen Kaidoh talking to an _actual girl_ that morning. Approximately twenty seconds later, that had transformed into Kaidoh giving her a bouquet of red roses.

Tezuka just rolled his eyes.

“You were, er, _smiling_ though,” Ikeda added meekly, once their audience has dispersed, “…Captain.”

Tezuka glared at him.

“Just kidding! No, you weren’t! I’m going to go run 30 laps now! Captain! Sir! I mean, _50 laps_!” Ikeda ran off not quite screaming.

“You really shouldn’t do that to the sub-regulars,” Oishi laughed when Ikeda had gone.

Tezuka shrugged sheepishly.

“Were you and Atobe planning another series of practice matches between our teams?” Oishi asked hopefully.

Tezuka felt a bubble of affection for his trusting, reliable, dependable friend. “No,” Tezuka admitted, because he couldn't _lie_ to Oishi. The rest of the team had left after his dismissal (no doubt to torment Kaidoh until a new rumor dropped), so it was just the two of them, sorting over their notes for the practice as they always did before classes started. And then achingly slowly, hesitantly, “I just think he’s…”

Oishi looked at Tezuka curiously. Tezuka knew Oishi had been taken by surprise most of all when he learned that Tezuka and Atobe had been negotiating behind the scenes. It was the least he could do to demonstrate his trust in Oishi now, really. Fuji had even given Tezuka the vocabulary he needed, so Tezuka just had to force it out. 

“…Cute,” Tezuka finally confessed, coughed, and then stared pointedly at the clipboard in front of him for the entire rest of their meeting.

Oishi, like the good friend he was, just patted Tezuka on the shoulder and then started discussing the division of the second-years for the next round of ranking tournaments.

Tezuka felt giddy all day, like he’d gotten away with an exceptionally clever trick.

He felt even giddier when he stepped out for his run that evening, and Atobe was waiting for him on his front steps again. Tezuka related the entire ordeal to Atobe on the way to the park. When Tezuka checked his watch after they’d stopped at the drinking fountain at the halfway point, he released he’d just achieved a new personal best.

“So,” Tezuka said while Atobe stretched his arms high over his head, his shirt riding up again to expose those scrumptious tanned abs, “that’s why we absolutely cannot date, at least while I’m still captain.”

“Oh?” Atobe raised one eyebrow.

“We can continue as we are now, but nothing more,” Tezuka concluded apologetically.

Atobe’s eyebrow rose further. “I think I can manage with that,” he said, looking at Tezuka a bit like he thought Tezuka was being somewhat silly.

“…Good. Race you to my house?”

“Absolutely,” Atobe grinned.


	10. The Candlelit Dinner That Wasn’t a Date

_Come over to my place_ , Atobe texted for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

 _I have practice_ , Tezuka texted back, but he did so almost immediately, always bafflingly reluctant and responsive at the same time.

 _I have something important I need to tell you in person_ , Atobe responded.

There was about a minute’s pause and then, _Saturday?_ offered up with unnecessary hesitance.

_Saturday. I’ll have the car pick you up at your house at 4._

_Car? There’s no bus?_

_You’ll need the car to get in the back way around the press._

_Press?_

_Because of the scandal._

_Scandal?_

_I’ll tell you Saturday._

There was a very long pause after that, so much so that Atobe assumed their conversation was over and had turned to fully panicking about how he was going to explain _any_ of this to Tezuka, when his phone chimed again.

_OK_

Atobe felt his heartbeat flutter in his chest. It was an entirely unnecessary response, superfluous, the way Tezuka occasionally allowed only with Atobe, as some sort of gesture (of affection, Atobe was now entirely sure). But there was more to it than that, after such a long pause. Tezuka had put thought into his response. And there were so many potential meanings: “OK, I trust you” or “whatever it is, it’s OK” or “we’re OK” or…

Atobe, with a start, realized that he’d been obsessing sappily over two letters for the last ten minutes and tossed his phone aside in disgust. Someone really should have warned him beforehand that falling in love would make him so incurably _stupid_.

He fidgeted about the next three days, feeling edgier than usual while he waited for his trainer to finally give him the all-clear after using Tannhäuser so exhaustively at the Goodwill Games. A good, long, hard run (or match, or fuck) would’ve calmed his mind, but all three were beyond his reach at the moment, and so he obsessed about trivial things he could control – his team’s practice and the student council, for the most part – until even his friends wanted to strangle him. Atobe didn’t blame them; he wanted to strangle himself too, for acting like an idiotic, lovelorn neurotic.

At 1PM on Saturday, Tezuka abruptly sent him a text out of nowhere: _I’m done with practice early. Should I come over now?_

Atobe immediately sent over the car, informed Tezuka, and spent the ensuing wait debating how many blowjobs he’d owe Tezuka for being early today of all days (once Tezuka got over his silly hesitance about accepting blowjobs in the first place).

The limo finally pulled up outside the guest house, and their driver Geoffrey ran around to open the door for a somewhat-bemused Tezuka. Tezuka looked up at Atobe, and then at the guest house behind him, and Atobe watched realization dawn on Tezuka that Atobe wasn’t rich; he was **_RICH_**.

“Oh,” Tezuka said as he climbed the stairs to stand in front of Atobe by the door of the multi-story mansion that loomed above them.

Atobe shrugged. “Yeah, there’s that.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” Tezuka asked, obviously still processing this fact fully.

“Partially,” Atobe agreed. Geoffrey was still waiting to open the front door for them. “Let’s talk upstairs.”

“OK,” Tezuka agreed and followed Atobe through what Gakuto had once dubbed “the most ridiculously huge castle _ever_ ” until he finally saw the Atobes’ _main_ house.

Tezuka looked about with polite curiosity but didn’t gawk, immediately start breaking things, or ask every five seconds “how much does _that_ cost?” Atobe had always known there was a reason he liked Tezuka better than his teammates.

Atobe led the way up the grand staircase, down two hallways, and finally settled them in one of the sitting rooms that overlooked the tennis courts. The staff had already brought up tea, and Tezuka’s eyes immediately honed in on _that_ covetously the way he hadn’t with any of his parents’ obscenely lavish decor. Atobe loved Tezuka just a little bit more for that and promptly poured him a cup.

Tezuka curled around it on one half of the loveseat, which Atobe immediately took as an invitation to occupy the other half. Their sock-clad feet brushed as they sat, and Atobe tried rubbing his toes over Tezuka’s ankle deliberately – because: what the hell? – and Tezuka gave him a _look_ , but he didn’t pull away, and when Atobe kept tracing circles with his big toe over Tezuka’s anklebone, Atobe caught just the hint of a smile before Tezuka hid it in his teacup.

“Your stamina seems back to normal,” Tezuka finally said calmly.

Atobe had just taken a sip and nearly hacked up a lung after his laugh caused the tea to go down the wrong pipe. Tezuka thumped him on the back, eyes wide with alarm, until Atobe could finally breathe again.

“Sorry,” Tezuka finally said sheepishly.

“ _Warn_ me the next time you do that,” Atobe wheezed.

Tezuka, damn him, looked far too satisfied with himself. “How’s the serve?” he asked again, this time when he was sure Atobe was nowhere near swallowing.

Atobe couldn’t help but chuckle at Tezuka’s pigheadedness. “I return to training tomorrow. Is that really the only thing you can think to ask me?”

“Was there something more important?” Tezuka asked sarcastically.

Atobe sighed and lay bay back against the armrest, although his foot still rested against Tezuka’s ankle, casually, like they were meant to be touching. “Go on,” he offered with a graceful twist of his wrist.

Tezuka nodded. “So, seriously this time: What _does_ your father do?”

“I told you long ago: boring business stuff,” Atobe said with a smirk.

Tezuka gave him an annoyed look.

“He’s the CEO of the Atobe Directorate.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“It’s the biggest securities company in Japan…and Singapore, Korea, Taiwan, Malaysia, Indonesia, and a few others I’m sure I’ve forgotten.”

“I’m not entirely sure I understand what a securities company _is_ ,” Tezuka admitted sheepishly, “other than that it’s something to do with money. I’m guessing.” He looked deliberately at the giant solid-silver mirror that stood above the Louis XIV sideboard.

Atobe snorted. “It’s how rich people move their money around mysteriously on computers, so that they end up with even _more_ money without ever paying taxes on any of it.”

Tezuka snorted back.

“Was I lying when I said it was boring? I did warn you.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka agreed and took a sip of tea.

“My _mother_ is the CEO of BESE, which is the Atobe Directorate’s European division, ever since the merger.”

That caused _Tezuka_ to hack tea down the wrong pipe, and after more thumping and hacking, they both set down their teacups for the rest of the conversation.

“You said you were, uh…” Tezuka blushed adorably, “in Germany?”

“During the acquisition, I’m told.”

“Ah.”

“On the boardroom table.”

Tezuka blushed even more. “…Ah.”

Atobe let him off the hook, because _he_ didn’t like to think about that overly hard either. “We have various residences throughout Asia and Europe. And a couple of odd ones in the Americas and North Africa.”

“Ah.”

“And Australia.”

Tezuka raised an eyebrow.

“In Melbourne, conveniently,” Atobe offered.

That piqued Tezuka’s interest. “You’ve attended the Australian Open?”

“All the Grand Slam tournaments, in various years,” Atobe admitted.

Tezuka’s eyes widened, and he leaned in, suddenly fervent. “Tell me what it’s like.”

Atobe spent the next several hours trying to recount, in minute detail, every moment of every tournament he’d ever attended and fielding all sorts of bizarre, left-field questions about the practical logistics of how the various tournaments were run on the ground, most of which Atobe could only vaguely guess at. It was spooky, actually, just how much Tezuka came alive when tennis knowledge was on the line. If Atobe ever needed to apologize to Tezuka very badly for doing something stupid, he now knew exactly where to invite Tezuka to make it up to him.

Tezuka finally relented around dinnertime, so Atobe invited him to stay for dinner. Tezuka hesitated for a moment, but then Atobe said, “You’ve _got_ to be curious,” and Tezuka conceded with just the slightest nod, in a rare admission that he was, in fact, human.

They went down to dining room, since Atobe didn’t want to deprive Tezuka of the full experience, and sat together at one end of an obnoxiously long table, the sight of which caused Tezuka to snicker and say, “Twenty laps” under his breath.

Atobe snickered back because you _could_ run laps around the ridiculous thing.

One of the maids came in and dimmed the chandelier before lighting the three tall candles in the silver candelabra at their end of the table, and Tezuka blushed fetchingly while another set their soup in front of them. Atobe waved them off, and one actually had the nerve to _wink_ at him, which made _him_ blush, too. At least he and Tezuka were a matching set, then. Fortunately, candlelight covered all sorts of embarrassing reactions, and those it couldn’t cover could be handled quite neatly with napkins to the lap.

Atobe spent the entire course spending more time paying attention to the sight of Tezuka by soft candlelight than to the soup. Tezuka tried to pretend he was focused on his food, but every so often, he’d glance over to see if Atobe was watching him, and blush when caught.

The staff switched out their empty soup bowls for dinner seamlessly, and while Tezuka was distracted by this, Atobe managed to inch his chair closer to Tezuka, so that their feet bumped under the colossal table. Tezuka looked up in surprise, but then he just did that thing where he looked away and tried not to smile, and under the table, Atobe felt Tezuka’s foot slide closer.

Their knees brushed together, cozy despite the ostentation, while they picked at the fish served. Cook had outdone himself, more than usual, but of course Atobe was having a very hard time paying attention to the food.

“This is delicious,” Tezuka finally said softly.

“The staff are trying to impress you,” Atobe explained. “They think you’re my boyfriend.”

“Ah,” Tezuka said and barely blushed at all. He was becoming steadily more comfortable with Atobe’s flirtations, which was an encouraging sign.

“You see why I needed to tell you before things went any further between us,” Atobe commented.

“Hmm,” Tezuka said, sounding unconvinced.

“My family’s wealth complicates things.”

“Maybe,” Tezuka conceded.

“Let me show you something,” Atobe said and offered his hand.

Tezuka wiped the edges of his mouth with his napkin, before setting it beside his empty plate. Dessert would materialize later, but that could wait. Tezuka took Atobe’s hand and rose to his feet.

Atobe led him upstairs again but this time toward the east wing, which overlooked the lawn leading back to the main house. The sun was still on the horizon at this time of summer, but it was dark enough that the parking lights of the vehicles surrounding the front gates were starkly visible.

“What’s going on?” Tezuka frowned at the small crowd.

“That’s the scandal,” Atobe answered. And, at Tezuka’s confused look, “Tabloids. There are only about a dozen now. The whole street was impassible when the story first broke.”

“What’s the scandal?”

“One of my father’s vice-presidents was caught embezzling about a month back. Upon realizing his number was up, he proceeded to take down as many ‘accomplices’ with him as he could. Enemies of his, mostly.” He gave Tezuka a pointed look. “My mother has been his favorite target. She’d taken over a number of his accounts in the Middle East that he’d been mismanaging. Old, traditional men tend not to like it when attractive, foreign women are more competent than they are.”

Tezuka’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He claimed my mother was having an affair with him, too,” Atobe hissed venomously and pulled the curtains shut on the scene outside. “It’s a filthy lie, of course. My mother absolutely adores my father, in her own unique way, and vice-versa. They don’t come across that way to people who don’t understand them, though, so she makes for an easy target.” Atobe realized belatedly that he’d tangled his fingers in his hair, which was unfortunate habit of his when he was agitated. He immediately stopped and dropped his hand to clutch at the windowsill instead.

Tezuka took a step closer, although not close enough to touch. Atobe supposed that, from Tezuka, that was a gesture of comfort.

“You had asked me last month what was bothering me.” And then Atobe shrugged it off. “Poor rich boy, right?”

“Don’t say that.” Tezuka sounded genuinely angry, which was an interesting turn of events.

“In any case, the point is: This sort of thing happens to my family _all the time_. This isn’t even a particularly big scandal. Fun is fun, but if you plan on putting up with me at all seriously, it means this sort of nonsense non-stop. They’ll come after you too, especially if they ever find out about us.”

Tezuka blinked at him for a long while and then said simply, “So?”

Atobe gave him a disbelieving look, but it wasn’t like Tezuka was too dull-witted to understand. Tezuka just seemed to be profoundly disinterested in the consequences of coming too close to the Atobe family, which was exceptionally baffling.

“I’m planning to go pro,” Tezuka said with a shrug. “I know how cutthroat that can be, so I’ll have to put up with the press, anyway. And eventually someone will let my preferences leak. I’ve been prepared to deal with that for some time. If anything, I’d like to pick your brain for advice on how to best handle situations like this.”

Atobe was left to do the blinking for once and then, impulsively, lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Tezuka’s neck. There was an awkward moment when Tezuka just stood there, ramrod straight, and then slowly he softened and slid his arms around Atobe’s waist, just holding him.

Atobe buried his nose at the base of Tezuka’s neck for one perfect moment, breathing in Tezuka’s scent, and then pulled back with a shaky laugh. “Sorry. I know how you hate getting emotions on you. I just really haven’t had anyone to talk to, and you’re…you.”

“I try my best,” Tezuka joked in that delightfully dry way of his. “And I’m sure my mother can get the emotions out of this shirt with a little baking soda.”

Atobe laughed and pulled away only reluctantly. “If you wanted to spend the night, now would be a really good time to tell me,” he offered.

“I couldn’t possibly spend the night,” Tezuka said seriously. “After everything you’ve told me today, a part of you would always wonder if I’d suddenly changed my mind because of your wealth. At least give me enough credit not to take advantage of your vulnerability.”

Atobe glared at him. “Stop that,” he complained.

“Stop what?” Tezuka asked, perplexed.

“Stop being so perfect,” Atobe accused.

That wicked little smirk curved the edge of Tezuka’s lips, and he looked Atobe pointedly in the eye, “Why?”

Atobe was left completely breathless at the pure conceit in that moment, and a wave of downright adoration flooded through him a moment later. “Of course, how silly of me,” he agreed lightly. “After all, why should I settle for anything less than absolute perfection?”

“I certainly don’t plan to,” Tezuka said ambiguously, which sent Atobe’s heart pounding stupidly again, because that was a compliment, Atobe just _knew_ it, but hidden under all those layers Tezuka wrapped himself up in.

Tezuka didn’t stay for dessert after that, which was just as well given that Atobe was back to his full training regimen the next morning, anyway. Atobe escorted Tezuka back out to the car out front, and Geoffrey kept giving Atobe annoyingly distracting thumbs-up and go-for-it signs from behind Tezuka’s back while the two of them said their goodbyes. Atobe was almost sorry he didn’t try, but Tezuka would never have settled for a first kiss with witnesses present.

After Tezuka had gone, Atobe walked up the hill to the main house and was treated to several flashes from the horde at the gates as he opened the parlor doors and went inside. What good the tabloids thought they’d get out of pictures of him walking into his own house was beyond him. Probably some obnoxious sob story about how his mother’s fictitious affair hurt her own son most of all. It all made Atobe want to gag.

His mother was in Stockholm at the moment, of course, but he made his way over to his father’s wing and found him seated behind his desk, poring over some papers that looked dreadfully dull, even from ten feet away.

“Keigo,” his father looked up at him in surprise. “You’re back early.”

“My beloved leads me on a merry chase,” Atobe agreed lightly and wandered about the study aimlessly before coming to rest on the edge of his father’s desk. “How _did_ you ever get mother to, er…?” he trailed off rather awkwardly.

Atobe’s father smiled at him and leaned in secretively. “Don’t ever tell her I told you this.”

“I promise,” Atobe agreed and crossed his heart.

“I let _her_ come to _me_. The minute she thought she was the one doing the pursuing?”

Atobe snickered because, yes, he could just see his mother going in for the kill like that. Tezuka, though, was a much gentler creature in that regard.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do,” Atobe said. “It’s just not necessarily applicable to my situation.”

“Everyone likes feeling in control,” his father insisted. "Assuming this Tezuka isn’t a complete spineless jellyfish – and given how taken with him you are, I’ll assume not – he’ll enjoy the thrill of the chase. It’s just like fishing: give him enough line and then reel him in slowly.”

Atobe made a face. “I’m not planning on gutting him and eating him for breakfast.”

“Of course not,” Atobe's father said. “Sometimes I forget just how different you are from your mother.” And then he sighed, longingly, like he couldn’t _wait_ to next be gutted.

Atobe snorted. “You give the worst romantic advice ever. No wonder no one but mom would have you.”

“Brat,” his father swatted at his leg fondly, and Atobe leapt nimbly out of the way with a laugh. “That’s more like you,” his father said with a smile, which was touching, really, because his father was trying to cheer him up. “But you have been different lately. Have you been all right here alone with the latest fiasco?”

Atobe shrugged. “It’s not that so much.”

“It’s this Tezuka boy?”

Atobe sighed; he absolutely hated sometimes how his parents possessed the exact same insight that he did, although he was grateful for the inheritance. “Tezuka is…special,” Atobe finally admitted with a blush.

“You told him how things go with our family?”

“Tonight,” Atobe nodded.

“And how did he take it?”

“Good.” Atobe’s chest warmed at the memory. “Better than I could have hoped for. He was more excited to discuss the players I’ve seen live, than he was fazed by the estate or the vulture-fest outside.”

“He sounds like an excellent match. It’s about time my son stopped settling for anything less,” his father teased.

Atobe had nothing to say to that and instead studied the very boring paper that was nearest to him. It was something to do with some equities, and Atobe’s attention drifted before he got any further than that. “How…” he finally ventured. “How did you finally know, with mom, that she was the one?”

“Have you ever looked at your mother?” his dad teased, which caused Atobe to mock-swat at _him_ , which set them both off laughing again. When his father finally answered, the answer was both incredibly helpful and useless all at once, “I just _knew_ , you know?”

“Yeah,” Atobe agreed softly, “I think I do.”


	11. The Game of Footsie That Wasn’t a Date

“I don’t know why you do these things to me,” Yushi whined. “It really is beyond the pale.”

Atobe rolled his eyes and rooted around on the bottom shelf for the weird, off-brand strings that Yushi insisted on using. “I already told you: It was an accident. I’ll pay for the repairs.”

“And my second-favorite racket, too,” Yushi said pitifully.

In the background, Atobe could hear Gakuto snickering. Honestly, and they called _Atobe_ a drama queen!

“Enough already,” Shishido complained. “This is so lame, and all the restaurants are going to be packed by the time we get there, and all because Oshitari can’t stop whining.”

“Yes,” Yushi said with that nasty little edge his voice sometimes got, “because _you_ certainly haven’t been whining all day about how you’re hungry…”

“Why, you!” Shishido exclaimed. “I’ll show you—!”

“I’d like to see you try—” Gakuto barged in on Yushi’s behalf and then yelped loudly.

There was a smash and a bang, and then Chotaroh said nervously, “Are you okay, Shishido?” and Atobe winced at how much he was going to have to pay for damages _this time_.

“Just who do you think you—” Shishido began just as Yushi started with, “I’ll show you who—”

And then suddenly, for no reason, they both broke off.

Atobe finally found Yushi’s weird Kansai racket strings (seriously, who knew such a thing even existed?) and seized the last one in triumph, just as Yushi delivered a very pointed kick right to Atobe’s rump.

“Yushi, I swear to god, you do _not_ want to start something with me today,” Atobe snapped and grabbed Yushi’s ankle as he pulled himself back out from the shelf of strange, condemned tennis parts, “or I will—”

“Hello, _Tezuka_ ,” Yushi sing-songed with a smirk. “How are you this fine morning?”

Atobe promptly banged his head on the shelf, losing Yushi’s racket strings in the process of rubbing his head and swearing profusely.

Atobe prayed for one moment that Yushi had just said that to mess with his head, but then an all-too-familiar voice responded with, “Oshitari. Mukahi. Shishido. Ohtori. And, ah, that sounded like Atobe.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Yushi teased as Atobe scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “He’s just so _excited_ to see you.”

Atobe deliberately elbowed Yushi in the stomach as he finally rose to pose beside Yushi behind the equipment shelf, and lay eyes upon the beautiful, magnificent man who had just entered the sporting-goods store.

“Tezuka,” Atobe said breathlessly, but fortunately he knew that breathless was a very good look on him, and by the way Tezuka’s eyes dilated when he quickly looked Atobe up and down, it seemed that Tezuka agreed. “Long time, no see.” They had, of course, shared that very intimate dinner at Atobe’s house only two days earlier. However, Tezuka had a tendency to pull back after he’d let his guard slip and let Atobe in too close, keeping their dance constantly two steps forward, one step back; Atobe expected the same to occur this time, only compounded due to the presence of so many third-party witnesses.

“Atobe,” Tezuka said again for no reason, and then, “not that long,” before he nudged past Shishido and Gakuto’s aborted stand-off and made a bee-line for the service counter.

“Oh, yeah. He’s _totally_ into you. How could I ever have doubted?” Yushi stage-whispered sarcastically just as Tezuka reached the counter.

If Tezuka heard, he didn’t indicate so, pulling a misused racket frame from his bag, and cooing over its wounds together with the attendant. Atobe had half expected most of Seigaku to trail in after Tezuka, because that seemed to be the way surprise encounters went in their neighborhood, but no one else burst in and immediately began challenging Hyotei to statistically bizarre doubles matches, for a change. It was a rather high-end, specialist store; perhaps only Tezuka was so refined to frequent such a place.

Next to him, Yushi snickered, “You should see the dopey look on your face when you look at him.”

Atobe pulled his eyes from Tezuka’s lovely, sophisticated behind, to glare at Yushi. “You could have warned me he was _right there_ ,” he whispered.

“I _did_ warn you, right in your fat, protruding ass,” Yushi retorted.

“My ass is _not_ fat!” Atobe exclaimed, outraged.

“Team vote!” Gakuto called out, sticking his tongue out at Atobe. “Hands up: Atobe’s ass is fat.” His threw up his own hand, as did Yushi, as did Shishido. Chotaroh, bless him, just looked mortified.

“3-2, it’s true,” Yushi crowed gleefully.

Atobe glared at him (and at Gakuto and Shishido too, just for good measure). “In case you’ve forgotten, Hyotei is _not_ a democracy; it is a meritocracy. And, as your superior, I override—”

Which, of course, was when Gakuto said evilly, “Then let’s let _Tezuka_ vote.”

Atobe turned wide-eyed, to see that Tezuka had returned, also wide-eyed at being put suddenly on the spot.

“What, exactly, am I supposed to be voting on?” Tezuka asked hesitantly.

“Does Atobe have a fat ass?” Yushi all but cackled at Atobe’s blush.

Tezuka snorted, leaned back to scientifically assess the ass in question, and then said perfectly neutrally, “Atobe has a perfect ass. As always. I can’t imagine how such a basic fact is even up for vote.”

Atobe reveled for one perfect moment in his teammates’ flabbergasted expressions. It served them right for ever doubting Tezuka’s undying love for him.

Atobe gave Tezuka himself a slow, lazy smile. Tezuka looked at him blankly, but there was that little twinkle in the corner of his eye that Atobe knew was reserved solely for him.

“Atobe,” Tezuka said again politely, clearly about to pass them all by again on the way out.

“Hey, Tezuka,” Yushi drawled, apparently already recovered from his temporary set-back, and Atobe debated murdering him on the spot, “we were just going to go get lunch. You should join us.”

Tezuka turned back to look at Yushi, then looked at Atobe, shrugged, and said, “Sure.”

Atobe abruptly changed his mind: He loved Yushi. Yushi was the best friend _ever_.

There was the requisite squabble while Yushi complained that Atobe had lost his new racket strings, and Atobe refused to crawl on the floor (especially with Tezuka looking), and finally Chotaroh (bless him again; the boy really was a saint) found them on the shelf where Atobe had dropped them when he bumped his head.

“Oh, this will be _fun_ ,” Yushi teased in Atobe’s ear while Atobe paid to have his racket restrung with his weird-ass strings.

Thankfully, Chotaroh was currently keeping Tezuka distracted, as the two of them compared brands of grip tape two aisles over.

“I’ve never seen you so flustered. Hyotei’s Ice King, my ass,” Gakuto agreed. “This is awesome. Let’s do karaoke next. Maybe some of _us_ will get to sing for once.”

Atobe scowled at him.

“Oh, hell no,” Shishido complained, for rare occasion on Atobe’s side. “I’m not listening to Oshitari squawking. Besides, we already had to hear Atobe serenading Tezuka back at the Invitational Camp.”

“I’d rather not sit through that nonsense again,” even Yushi conceded, probably only so that he could take another potshot at Atobe.

“Besides,” Shishido whined, “I’m _still hungry_. Are you done whining yet, Oshitari?” he asked, completely non-ironically.

“I’m hungry, too,” Chotaroh cut in diplomatically as he and Tezuka returned to the group, because he, too, saw the pending explosion of Oshitari v Shishido, Round 195.

“Where are we eating?” Gakuto conceded grudgingly.

“Okonomiyaki,” Yushi suggested.

“No,” several people said at once.

“Burgers?”

“No” followed by a “Hell, no” from Atobe.

“Noodles.”

“No.”

“Curry,” was Atobe’s suggestion, which also got its fair share of “No”s, although not from Tezuka, which contented Atobe enough that he let it go.

“We could just split up, all get what we want, and meet up at one of the tables in the food court?” Chotaroh finally offered meekly.

There were a couple of shrugs, but it was physically impossible for anyone to object strongly to Chotaroh’s persistent reasonableness.

“Divide and conquer, it is,” Atobe announced. “Now, let’s get out of here before Gakuto can break anything else.”

“Hey!” Gakuto objected.

Atobe raised one eyebrow at the two shop attendants who were still picking up the display Gakuto had knocked over earlier in his altercation with Shishido.

“Shishido shoved me first,” Gakuto grumbled.

They escaped the store, thankfully without incident, and Atobe uncharacteristically hung to the back of the group so that – just as he’d hoped – Tezuka would hang back with him, and they could talk.

“Hi,” Tezuka said quietly while they milled their way through the crowds of mall shoppers toward the food court.

“Hi,” Atobe said back, with the hint of a smile.

“It’s been two days,” Tezuka said.

“It has,” Atobe agreed.

“And you haven’t called me back yet.”

Atobe let his smile turn distinctly smug. Perhaps his father’s advice about holding back a bit wasn’t so bad, after all. “I believe the etiquette is that call-backs are only required after dates.”

Tezuka looked pointedly away.

There was just enough of a crowd waiting in the line that Atobe and Tezuka chose, that Atobe could jostle himself so that his arm brushed Tezuka’s. “Are you saying dinner last Saturday was a date?”

“…No,” Tezuka denied, but he wouldn’t meet Atobe’s eyes, and he was trying not to smile again.

By the time they reached the front of the line and ordered their curry, Gakuto had gotten them a table – a decent one in the corner – and they made their way to the bench seats where the rest of Hyotei was congregating. Somehow, his teammates rigged it so that Tezuka got in one side of the booth first, then Atobe, and then – to make the conspiracy complete – sweet, innocent Chotaroh got in on the end and knocked Atobe practically into Tezuka’s lap.

“Short bench,” Chotaroh actually had the nerve to lie to Atobe’s face and smile sweetly while doing it.

Atobe would have objected, but he and Tezuka were now pressed tightly together, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, and so Atobe really couldn’t object _that_ much.

Yushi, who’d finagled it so that he sat directly across from Atobe, smirked at him and said, “I ordered one of everything on the menu. You paid.” And he handed Atobe back one of his credit cards that Atobe hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

“Did I?” Atobe snatched back his card before Yushi could find somewhere else to go on a spree.

“Because you still owe me for ruining my second-best racket,” Yushi agreed.

Atobe rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_.”

“God, you’re such a mooch, Yushi,” Gakuto complained, picking at one of the strips of steak from Yushi’s plate and popping it in his mouth. “It’s gross.”

“Mooched food tastes better,” Yushi insisted, which apparently mortally pissed off Shishido for some unfathomable reason, and the two of them started arguing again, which in turn made it very obvious that it had been incredibly stupid of the two of them to sit next to each other, without some sort of mediator in between. Next to Atobe, Chotaroh looked vaguely torn by this fact, since mediation was generally his job.

“Your team is odd,” Tezuka said under his breath, so that Atobe could just make out the words.

“Yours isn’t?” Atobe looked at him askance.

Tezuka shrugged. “No, mine is much odder. But I thought I’d point it out anyway.”

Atobe snickered, and the arrival of several more plates for Oshitari was all that prevented Oshitari v Shishido, Round 196.

“So, Tezuka,” Yushi leaned one elbow on the table and propped his chin up on his hand, which was how Atobe knew that Yushi was about to torture him some more, “how’s the shoulder?”

Tezuka gave Yushi a level look. “Good.”

“That’s good,” Yushi drawled. “After all, Nationals is coming right up, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Tezuka agreed.

“Seigaku must be training pretty hard.”

“We are.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fine. Just as long as we don’t let our guards down.”

Yushi snorted and gave Atobe a sly look. “Hyotei’s picked up its practices too, since we won the wildcard spot. Haven’t we, Atobe?”

“Naturally,” Atobe agreed with a pleasantly murderous smile.

“Atobe’s got a picture of the two of you from Regionals in the clubhouse, you know,” Yushi’s eyes strayed in Tezuka’s direction. “For inspiration.”

“Does. He.” Tezuka crossed his arms over his chest and managed to inflict superhuman levels of disinterest into those words.

“Sometimes he talks to it,” Yushi said evilly.

“I do _not_!” Atobe insisted, blushing.

“Sometimes he caresses it…”

“You filthy liar!” Unfortunately, the food was directly between him and Yushi so he couldn’t properly strangle Yushi, which was undoubtedly why Yushi had positioned them that way. Yushi laughed at his aborted effort, and Atobe debated whether it was worth risking ruining his outfit just to strangle Yushi after all, when a warm hand landed on Atobe’s thigh under the table, calming him instantly.

Atobe turned a surprised look Tezuka’s way, but Tezuka was calmly eating his food with the chopsticks in his left hand, looking perfectly innocent and oblivious to Yushi’s attempts to rile Atobe up. The hand on Atobe’s left thigh under the table gave him a firm but gentle squeeze.

“And an obvious lie, too,” Atobe continued breezily as he picked up his own chopsticks. “You all know I never settle for knockoffs. If I wanted to caress Tezuka, I’d caress the real thing.”

Yushi actually gaped at Atobe’s effrontery to say something that risqué right in front of Tezuka.

Tezuka just snorted. “Would you, now?” he said, the very picture of skepticism as he looked at Atobe up from under the rims of his glasses.

“Given eager consent, of course,” Atobe assured him.

Tezuka’s eyebrow rose.

“Because no human being possessed of both functional eyes and sane mind would ever _deny_ my touch,” Atobe concluded haughtily.

Tezuka snorted again and returned to his food. The hand on Atobe’s thigh began tracing slow circles into the fabric of Atobe’s jeans. It was distracting, wickedly so, and Atobe took a moment to enjoy the sensation of Tezuka playing naughty, while Gakuto and Shishido fought over who could eat more of the spicy sauce on their pork without having to chug water, which unfortunately was a very common occurrence.

Tezuka’s hand drifted away shortly thereafter when he needed to use it to wipe the edges of his mouth with his napkin, and it didn’t return, but Atobe could still feel the warmth of Tezuka’s palm as if it was branded into Atobe’s thigh.

Tezuka’s shoe bumped Atobe’s under the table, though, and they started doing that on purpose every time Yushi tried to get a rise out of Tezuka or embarrass Atobe in front of him. Which, of course, was almost constantly.

Yushi started giving Atobe suspicious looks halfway through lunch, like he just _knew_ they were up to something that was keeping them both so calm in the face of such blatant provocation. The next time Yushi got distracted by Gakuto’s latest unreasonable demands upon his person, Atobe and Tezuka exchanged a sly look and a smile.

It was thrilling, really, their own little personal secret. If Tezuka liked to keep the game just under the table where Atobe’s teammates couldn't see them, Atobe certainly didn't mind. If anything, it was rather adorable seeing Tezuka’s playful, mischievous side, hidden behind the same stoic expression he always wore.

At some point, even Gakuto’s and Shishido’s bottomless gullets were sated, and all six of them groaned back in their seats.

“Too much food,” Gakuto groaned.

“I think I’m going to die,” Chotaroh agreed.

“See, Yushi?” Shishido offered weakly. “This is what happens when you make us wait so long for lunch that we all get too hungry.”

“It’s not my fault you overeat like a pig,” Yushi countered just as weakly. If they’d had the strength to fight just then, they undoubtedly would have tried.

“I’m not looking forward to my evening run,” Atobe admitted, although he’d managed to refrain from overindulging too badly. He honestly worried whether Gakuto would be able to move at all for the next few days.

“That was exceedingly filling,” Tezuka agreed dryly, looking somewhat despairingly down at his empty plate as well. “I’m grateful I don’t have practice until tomorrow morning.”

“Hear, hear,” Yushi agreed.

Gakuto just groaned like he realized that even tomorrow was going to be too soon for him.

“Okay, everybody up,” Atobe announced. “As captain, I refuse to allow the Hyotei regulars to die of obesity in the back booth of a mall’s food court.” He nudged Chotaroh who, with a groan, finally released him and Tezuka from their very pleasant close confinement.

Atobe and Tezuka got out considerably easier than the other side of the booth, where Chotaroh finally had to grab Shishido’s hands and _yank_ him out. Yushi and Gakuto followed very slowly thereafter.

“Arcade next?” Shishido suggested.

Yushi groaned. “I was thinking a movie, where I won’t have to move at _all_ for the next two hours.”

Atobe gave them both critical looks. “After a meal like that, you need to move. We should all take a walk.”

“It’s our day off,” Gakuto stuck his tongue out at Atobe, “so you don’t get to make us do laps.”

Atobe rolled his eyes because that really wasn’t what he’d been doing at all, but then Yushi got that evil look in his eyes again. “Let’s split up. Gakuto and I will catch a movie, and Shishido and Chotaroh can go play stupid video games, and crazy tennis-obsessed freaks can go try to walk off lunch.” He gave Atobe a pointed look and then looked slyly over Atobe’s shoulder at Tezuka.

Atobe had been about to object to the insult, but then paused because it really was hard to oppose a plan that resulted in giving him alone-time with Tezuka.

“Later,” Shishido said, already dragging Chotaroh along with him. Chotaroh gave Atobe an apologetic look over his shoulder and a wave goodbye.

“That sounds entirely reasonable,” Tezuka said and headed for the door. “I’ll let Kikumaru and Oishi know that they, at least, needn’t worry if we face Hyotei again in the National quarter-finals.”

“Hey!” Gakuto exclaimed in horror. “Did Tezuka just diss me?” he asked Yushi in disbelief. “Tezuka totally just dissed me, didn’t he? Hey, you!” Gakuto called after Tezuka’s retreating back, but of course Atobe could have told him that wouldn’t do any good.

Yushi gave Atobe a level look and pushed his glasses up the brim of his nose. “Honestly,” he admitted under his breath this time so that Tezuka definitely couldn’t hear, “I think maybe he _does_ like you. It’s very hard to tell, though.”

Atobe breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to have outside confirmation that he wasn’t completely deluding himself. “Isn’t it, though?” he agreed.

“What on earth were the two of you doing that had you all smiley?” Yushi demanded.

Atobe just gave him a grin. “That’s for me to know, and you to wonder about until your dying days,” he teased, turning back to the door where Tezuka was waiting for him.

“Oh, come on, Atobe!” Yushi complained. “You still owe me, you know!”

Atobe just waved dismissively over his shoulder. If he let Yushi decide these things, he’d owe Yushi for the rest of his life.


	12. The Rose Walk That Wasn’t a Date

Halfway through afternoon practice, Atobe was surprised to receive a text:

> Tezuka (4:27:02 PM): Are you free?

Atobe blinked at the message and responded:

> Atobe (4:27:45 PM): I’m at practice. Why are YOU free?

Atobe had just enough time to watch two first-year sub-regulars crash into each other as they both tried to call for the ball simultaneously, when his phone buzzed again.

> Tezuka (4:29:26 PM): When WILL you be free?

Well, this was clearly a more interesting turn of events than watching Hiyoshi face-palm at the first-years’ footwork.

> Atobe (4:30:48 PM): You can have me any time you want me. You know that.  
>  Tezuka (4:31:08 PM): …  
>  Tezuka (4:31:12 PM): 5?  
>  Atobe (4:31:42 PM): 5. Where are you? I’ll send the car around.  
>  Tezuka (4:32:25 PM): By ‘car’, do mean that…thing?  
>  Atobe (4:32:42 PM): The limo?  
>  Tezuka (4:33:08 PM): Yes. That.  
>  Atobe (4:33:29 PM): That’s the car.  
>  Tezuka (4:33:57 PM): Don’t you have anything less ostrich?  
>  Tezuka (4:34:09 PM): OSTENTATIOUS  
>  Tezuka (4:34:15 PM): Damn autocorrect  
>  Atobe (4:34:29 PM): lol  
>  Atobe (4:34:33 PM): I have other cars.  
>  Tezuka (4:34:49 PM): Good. I’m at home.  
>  Tezuka (4:34:59 PM): I’ll see you at 5.  
>  Tezuka (4:35:11 PM): Try not to make more of a scene than usual. My mother is home.  
>  Atobe (4:35:34 PM): No promises ~_^

“Three guesses who Atobe’s texting…” Yushi teased.

Next to him, Shishido just snorted.

“I’m cutting out,” Atobe informed them. “If Sakaki shows up, cover for me.”

Shishido snorted again.

“We’ll tell Coach you’re ditching practice right before Nationals for a booty-call with the Captain of our biggest rival,” Yushi assured him. “I’m sure he’ll be very understanding.”

“Kabaji?” Atobe whined. “Tell Sakaki the truth, all right?”

“Yes,” Kabaji agreed, and then: “But isn’t that the truth?”

“Et tu, Kabaji?” Atobe groaned, but headed out anyway because Kabaji kind of had a point.

In the 10 minutes since Atobe had texted him, Geoffrey had somehow swapped out the limo for the Jaguar and was waiting by Hyotei’s front gates. Occasionally, Atobe suspected Geoffrey of having superhuman powers, in that same strange way that _all_ of Atobe’s father’s innermost staff seemed to defy belief.

The drive was brief but exhilarating, although Atobe was sure it would have been far more exhilarating as the driver. He was turning 15 soon, and the years remaining until he could get his license were starting to itch. At times he thought he should have stuck in out in England (or somewhere else in Europe with even better laws) just to get his license earlier, but then he never would have met Tezuka, and that was entirely unacceptable.

The Jaguar pulled to a precise stop in front of the Tezukas’ residence mere minutes later, and Atobe studied the house with some bemusement. It seemed wrong somehow that such an ordinary façade, nearly identical to its neighbors on either side, should house the most extraordinary person Atobe had ever met. Rather like diamond cufflinks wrapped up in an ordinary brown paper bag. It felt like the universe had tried to pull a fast one on Atobe, and Atobe thanked his insight for the umpteenth time that he’d taken the time to unwrap the treasure within.

Atobe felt weirdly giddy ringing Tezuka’s doorbell. Entirely of their own devices, his hands came up to smooth down his hair, even though he knew it was already as immaculate as ever.

A typical middle-aged woman opened the door, gave Atobe one look, and called up the stairs, “Kunimitsu! Another one of your teammates is here!” She turned back to Atobe and said politely. “Come on in…”

“Keigo,” Atobe bowed to her politely. “Atobe Keigo. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tezuka.” He carefully toed off his shoes and lined them neatly beside the pair he recognized as Tezuka’s.

“A teammate with actual _manners_ this time,” Tezuka’s mother gave him a favorable smile. “What a refreshing change.”

“I’m not actually—” Atobe began, but then Tezuka descended the stairs, and it took all Atobe’s effort not to react. He’d never seen Tezuka look so _casual_ before; Tezuka’s sock-clad feet had no business being so unbearably sexy. It was just unfair.

“Mother,” Tezuka said with what Atobe was able to recognize as dry exasperation, “Atobe’s not one of my teammates. I played him at Regionals. You watched the match, remember?”

“Oh, right,” his mother smiled, obviously still not recognizing Atobe at all. “How could I have forgotten? Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Keigo,” she said before leaving Atobe to Tezuka’s care, which was how Atobe generally preferred to be, in any case.

“She’s…not really a tennis fan,” Tezuka offered with a sheepish shrug and then inclined his head to indicate that Atobe should follow him upstairs.

“No need to apologize,” Atobe said, and then with an edge: “She was very enlightening. Tell me, what rude teammates have you been inviting up to your bedroom before me?”

Tezuka gave Atobe a wide-eyed look, which quickly settled that little niggling jealousy at the back to Atobe’s mind. “That was just Echizen,” Tezuka insisted. “He wanted to argue about his spot on the team at the Goodwill Games.”

‘Just Echizen’ was possibly the most brilliant combination of two words Atobe had ever heard. He decided to return the favor as he stepped into Tezuka’s room. “Oh, just Echizen,” he said dismissively, and caught the mirrored relief on _Tezuka’s_ face out of the corner of his eye. Atobe had to give the brat credit for doing a number on _all_ of them.

Atobe drifted naturally over to the bookshelf because that was clearly where Tezuka’s heart and soul lived in the otherwise-spare room. Tezuka was obviously a fan of novels and history, and especially historical novels. There were the typical Japanese selections, although it seemed Tezuka had kept only his favorites, given a couple of notable omissions. Beneath those was a shelf in English and then another shelf in German. Atobe’s heart skipped a beat that he’d finally found himself a potential lover with Goethe already on his shelf.

“You have good taste in literature,” Atobe informed Tezuka, where Tezuka had just sat down on the edge of his bed. And then, perhaps a little bit wickedly, Atobe turned to meet Tezuka’s eyes dead-on: “Also, a lot of yaoi manga.”

Tezuka blushed becomingly but didn’t turn away from Atobe’s gaze. “I do,” he agreed unashamedly.

Atobe smirked and let his forefinger drift over the spines on the top shelf before coming to sit beside Tezuka on the bed, their hips and thighs brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” Tezuka said quite seriously.

“You already have,” Atobe pointed out, which earned him an exasperated look. “Yes,” Atobe added. “Anything.”

“How did you…” Tezuka took a very long time to come up with the last word and eventually settled for the vaguest thing imaginable, “know?”

“Know?”

Tezuka took a deep breath. “That I don’t like women,” he confessed nervously, almost a whisper, like he was worried the walls would overhear.

Atobe could feel his heart pounding in his ears. “Tezuka, my dearest,” he admitted with more sincerity than usual, “I had no idea until you told me just now.”

Tezuka gave him a baffled look. “But you flirted with me right from the start.”

Atobe grinned because he was pretty sure this was the first time Tezuka had openly admitted that the two of them _were_ flirting. “I have yet to meet the man who wasn’t willing to make an exception, just once, for _me_ ,” he said as arrogantly as possible. “The fact that you preferred it that way all along is just icing on the cake.”

His hand reached up to cup Tezuka’s chin. Tezuka’s eyelashes fluttered closed, looking impossibly delicate against his cheeks. Atobe had one ice-drenching moment of clarity: _I’m finally going to kiss Tezuka!_ And then, of course, Tezuka’s mother knocked on the door.

Atobe and Tezuka had bolted apart to opposite ends of the bed by the time she’d opened the door.

“I have to go to the store,” she smiled pleasantly, although stretched a bit thin, Atobe thought. “Do you need anything, Kunimitsu?”

Tezuka adjusted his glasses on his nose nervously, which wasn’t helping to hide what they’d been doing at all. “No, thank you, mother.”

“It’ll just be a minute.” She looked suspiciously back and forth between the two of them. “I’ll be _right back_. It was so nice meeting you again, Keito.”

“ _Keigo_ ,” Tezuka corrected sharply.

“Oh, right. Of course,” she agreed tightly and headed back out.

Atobe had the sick feeling she’d just done that on purpose. How quickly her opinion of him had changed.

“Want to get out of here?” Tezuka asked, voice tense, after she’d gone.

“Hell, yes,” Atobe agreed.

Tezuka just snorted at the car and Atobe’s apparently flawed definition of ‘less ostentatious’ and insisted they walk. “There’s a place I want to show you,” he said enigmatically and grabbed his backpack, which puzzled Atobe further.

It was only several blocks before Tezuka turned into a park, and Atobe smiled at the rose garden contained therein. Fragrant blooms of red, orange, gold, damson, and snow white lined the paths that stretched in all directions, interspliced by the odd gardener or visitor. When Atobe turned back to look at Tezuka, there was a softness to Tezuka’s eyes at Atobe’s reaction. “This is one of my favorite places,” Tezuka confessed and led Atobe down one of the rose-lined paths.

“So,” Atobe summarized, “you invited me back up to your bedroom, confessed to preferring men, and then took me on a romantic walk through the rose garden. But, let me guess: This still isn’t a date?”

“No, of course not,” Tezuka insisted, but Atobe could hear the warm amusement in his voice.

“You really are exasperating, you know,” Atobe sighed fondly.

Tezuka paused for one second to look at Atobe over his shoulder. “I know,” he agreed, and turned off into a little nook between two large hedges.

Atobe followed him to find a series of three tables with benches set up in a neat row. The table nearest to them was occupied by two elderly men playing cards. Tezuka took a seat at the table farthest from them, deepest into the roses.

“It’s quiet here,” Tezuka explained unnecessarily. “Somewhat private.”

Atobe sat opposite him. “No disagreement from me.”

Tezuka nodded once and then pulled a game board out of his bag. “You mentioned the other day that you’d never learned to play shogi?”

Atobe’s smile widened. “No,” he agreed, “I never did. I understand it’s rather like chess.”

“Somewhat,” Tezuka agreed and set up the board.

Atobe had heard the rules of the game described before, but he’d never played close attention beyond an academic interest in what the differences were with chess. However, listening to Tezuka describe every piece patiently, lovingly, was an entirely more savory experience, all the more so because the instant Tezuka started discussing strategy, Atobe wanted nothing more than to master all the rules at once so he could match Tezuka in this, too.

Really, he had no choice but to practice day and night until he could wipe that smug smile off Tezuka’s face when he announced, “I’ll take a handicap this game.”

Unfortunately, the differences in strategy between the two were enough that Atobe lost the first game and the second. The elderly couple at the other table left right as they were setting up the board for their third.

“One of the things I like best about coming here,” Tezuka said while Atobe pondered the corner Tezuka had backed him into, “is the scent. The whole air is perfumed with it.”

Atobe hummed noncommittally.

“It reminds me of the cologne you wear,” Tezuka admitted softly, which was just _unfair_ when Atobe was trying to concentrate.

Atobe ended up losing the third game, too, not long thereafter.

Tezuka increased his handicap in the fourth, and _that_ Atobe finally won with a sigh of relief.

“Well-played at the end,” Tezuka offered, and then: “Here’s what you should have done differently in the mid-game.”

Tezuka, it turned out, was an exacting teacher, which was the sort of teacher Atobe naturally preferred.

They stayed out until dusk, and then a little past dusk until the board became too hard to see. Atobe had no desire to leave, and by the way Tezuka put the pieces away slowly and methodically, it seemed he was in no hurry, either.

Atobe was just seriously debating whether he should try to kiss Tezuka again, hidden here among the roses, the technical public nature of the place be damned, when Tezuka finally stood with a cough.

“Walk me home?” Tezuka asked almost coyly.

Atobe smiled, and their shoulders brushed more than once on the walk back to Tezuka’s house. They didn’t say much, but that was all right. Atobe had come to enjoy Tezuka’s silences just as much as his conversations.

“Only a few weeks until Nationals,” Atobe commented when they stood facing each other outside the gate to Tezuka’s house. Geoffrey was still parked across the street.

Tezuka nodded once. “I’m sorry,” he agreed.

Atobe gave him a puzzled look.

“That you’re going to lose to Seigaku in the quarter-finals,” Tezuka clarified.

Atobe laughed and cupped Tezuka’s cheek one last time. From inside the house, Atobe could see Tezuka’s mother peering out at them with a frown between her brows. “Tezuka Kunimitsu,” Atobe said softly, “don’t ever change, for anyone.” And he left Tezuka on his doorstep.


	13. The Sleepover That Wasn’t a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming the first PoT movie takes place after the Goodwill Games because, if it doesn't, the timeline of the anime makes even _less_ sense than it does already. :P (Also, I'm skipping over Atobe's Gift, based on my previous principle of "there is nothing I could write that would make them any more in love.")

Although no one would ever believe it of Tezuka, for as long as he could remember, he’d always been a romantic. Maybe it had come from his mother’s romance novels that he’d sneaked when he was child, or maybe he’d watched too many sappy movies, or maybe he’d just been born that way. Who knew?

But, in Tezuka’s heart of hearts, what he’d always _really_ wanted was for someone dashing and gallant to sweep him off his feet, the perfect caricature of romance.

Tezuka had never admitted this to another soul, of course, for a number of reasons. First of all, Tezuka had figured out very young that real life wasn’t like that, real _people_ weren’t like that. In real life, Tezuka would have to marry a girl and sire an heir and carry on the family name. Real life was the least romantic thing possible.

Secondly, boys who did want that kind of romantic fantasy had a very difficult time of it. They stood out, were teased, and weren’t left alone for a moment. It was much smarter, Tezuka had concluded, to keep quiet, subdued, under-the-radar, and sneak those fantasies – like his mother’s romance novels – under the rest of the world’s nose. That was why, whenever Tezuka was asked about his inclinations, he’d always made up something plausible: he wanted a sensible, quiet, intelligent girl. Given what he was already giving up by having to marry a _girl_ anyway, that really was the least offensive option.

Then Tezuka had met Atobe, and everything he’d thought he’d known had gone out the window. Because Atobe was _exactly_ what Tezuka had always dreamed of, hidden away in his room, clutching at purloined paperbacks, only _better_ because, to top it all off, Atobe was his match in tennis as well.

It had taken Tezuka a very, very long time to let himself admit this – that Atobe was what he’d been _waiting_ for all his life – because then Tezuka had to face something even more soul-shattering: Atobe was everything Tezuka had always wanted, but _Tezuka couldn’t have him._

Not because of any lack of interest on Atobe’s part, or even on Tezuka’s, but because the two of them could never truly be together. If Tezuka were so inclined, he could probably have a wonderful summer fling, but Tezuka didn’t know that he could be that sort of person, that casual. If Tezuka had his charming, romantic, brilliant boy and then had to give him up for that sensible, colorless girl, Tezuka honestly did not know if he would be able to live with himself.

Tezuka, ironically enough, was saving himself for someone he would never even _want_ , just to spare himself that future agony.

It wasn’t until Tezuka had gone to Germany that he’d first thought – quietly, dangerously, in the very back corner of his mind – _no_.

The word had repeated louder, bolder with each call, each text, each e-mail from Atobe that left Tezuka aching. All around him, people were living their own lives, free(-ish) from family obligations, dating whomever they loved and loved them back. The first time Tezuka had confessed, to one of the German players he’d befriended, that he’d be forced to marry a woman and have children, even though he didn’t _like_ women, the incredulous “Why?” he’d gotten back had been terrifying and liberating all at once.

He’d been reminded why, of course, as soon as he returned home and that weight had been placed back upon his shoulders once more: _be the good son, don’t bring shame to our family, keep up appearances._

And Atobe…

Atobe was more beautiful than Tezuka had even let himself remember while he’d been abroad, more vibrant and cocky and full of _life_.

Tezuka thought now that, even if things didn’t ultimately work out between him and Atobe, it wasn’t going to be because he would eventually have to leave Atobe for that wife and grandchild his mother wanted. Tezuka was deciding, slowly but surely, that he was _never_ going to settle for those things. Being alone was preferable, as long as he had himself, his tennis, and his own life to live.

That was why, when Atobe had successfully evacuated them all from that cruise ship and onto his family yacht ( _like a knight on a shining white horse_ , Tezuka’s hind-brain helpfully reminded all the relevant glands in Tezuka’s body), Tezuka had, just for a moment, leaned in to Atobe.

Atobe looked at Tezuka in surprise, but quickly wrapped one arm around Tezuka’s shoulders, holding him up.

 _I could have this_ , Tezuka let himself think as he looked deep into Atobe’s eyes, and saw concern looking back out at him, _if I really wanted to make it work…_

That night, it turned out that the Atobes’ yacht had six passenger cabins, for the ten teenage boys. Tezuka had blushed just looking at the queen-sized mattress in one of the rooms.

The negotiations had started almost immediately.

“I’m rooming with Oishi!” Kikumaru announced, which made Oishi blush all the way down to his neck. Kawamura didn’t blush when Fuji claimed him, but only because he was thoroughly oblivious. Momoshiro announced that he was absolutely _not_ rooming with Kaidoh, so he’d room with Echizen instead; Echizen insisted he was getting his own room, which caused Momoshiro to put him in a headlock and make the usual fuss about cocky first-years acting above their station. In the fuss, Inui and Kaidoh had selected each other as roommates and gone off.

That left Tezuka, Atobe, Echizen, and Momoshiro, with three suites remaining. Up until this point, Tezuka hadn’t said a word.

Echizen gave Tezuka an evil look, and then said brattily, “Fine. If I can't have my own room, I'll bunk with the Monkey King, since at least he probably doesn't _snore_ , right?” which was how Tezuka knew that somehow he’d been unsubtle enough that even _Echizen_ had noticed his weird reactions to Atobe. Just great.

“I’m bunking with Atobe,” Tezuka declared icily, before Momoshiro could go off about the snoring jibe, and Tezuka gave Echizen a level look and rested his hand on the doorknob to the cabin Atobe had been inhabiting on the voyage out.

Echizen just smirked at him and took one of the empty cabins.

“Wait…” Momoshiro blinked. “Does this mean _I_ get a solo room too?”

“Have at it,” Atobe waved one hand airily and retreated into the cabin that Tezuka, in a fit of insanity, had just agreed to _share_.

Tezuka followed Atobe in, shut the door behind him, and spent the next ten minutes pointedly not looking at Atobe, but blushing horrifically anyway.

Atobe got ready for bed matter-of-factly without fuss, while Tezuka hid in the bathroom and changed into the spare set of pajamas Atobe had procured from a drawer. When Tezuka emerged, Atobe was already curled up under the covers on one half of the bed. The other half looked huge and vacant and at the same time far too small.

“Turn off the lights when you’re done,” Atobe requested and closed his eyes, which should have made him less intimidating but somehow _didn’t_.

In the room next door, Tezuka could hear voices arguing. Inui and Kaidoh, Tezuka could tell when Kaidoh exclaimed particularly loudly, “But, senpai, you can’t eavesdrop on the captain through the wall like that!” followed by vigorous hushing in Inui’s part.

In bed, Atobe snorted, which somehow gave Tezuka the courage to approach the bed and turn off the light.

“Goodnight,” Atobe said.

“Goodnight,” Tezuka agreed.

The wall behind them was completely silent, which in no way indicated that Inui was no longer listening.

That left Tezuka in the dark, perched precariously on the corner of his own bed. His breaths seemed impossibly loud to his own ears, and he nearly jumped when a hand landed softly on his wrist.

And then, with a soft sigh, Tezuka let the hand pull him under the covers. To his surprise, all the panicky thoughts racing through his head stilled when he came to rest beside Atobe, his arm – still caught in Atobe’s hand – draped comfortably over Atobe’s waist. Atobe was warm, and somehow both hard and soft at once, and Tezuka could feel Atobe’s pulse and breath where his hand rested on Atobe’s stomach. That rhythm, regular and soothing, finally alleviated the last of Tezuka’s anxiety over the ordeal Seigaku had just faced; Tezuka hadn’t even realized it was still disturbing him so deeply until then.

After some minutes of silence, Atobe turned so that he was facing Tezuka, and their faces were less than a foot apart on the pillows. Tezuka could smell a waft of soap, lotion, and something deep, exotic, and vaguely rose-scented that made Tezuka want to bury his face in it.

There was just enough moonlight coming in from outside that Tezuka could make out Atobe’s face (and, presumably, vice-versa).

Tezuka had thought to see some hint of satisfaction or smugness in Atobe’s expression, but instead Atobe was looking at him wide-eyed. Stunned, perhaps, and maybe just a little bit frightened, like Tezuka was, at the intensity of feelings that had sprung up between them.

Impulsively, Tezuka reached up with his hand, to stroke the side of Atobe’s face, brushing a lock of hair back off his forehead. Atobe gasped softly and shuddered, closing his eyes, but his expression relaxed and took on the hint of a contented smile, just at the corner of his lips.

Tezuka watched those lips in fascination as Atobe’s eyes reopened, dark and welcoming now.

Atobe reached over to touch Tezuka’s chin and, without the option of speaking, lest they be overheard by the spies in the next room over, they touched each other cautiously, tenderly, learning each other’s features intimately through stolen touches in the night.

Tezuka drifted in and out of sleep as the night wore on, as did Atobe. Their bodies naturally closed the distance between them, although every time Tezuka awoke, he inserted enough space that Atobe wouldn’t feel his erection (and he wouldn’t be tempted by Atobe’s, in turn).

There was something incredibly touching about Atobe curling so trustingly in to him in sleep. Tezuka was starting to learn that, as transparent as Atobe seemed, he didn’t really trust many people. A sizeable part of his flamboyance was calculated to disguise his natural wariness.

Atobe let Tezuka entirely past his defenses that night, however, cuddling close and warm. Tezuka’s heart pounded one moment and then fell into sleepy syncopation with Atobe’s the next, and he let the thought flash through his mind once more: _He could be mine. All I have to do is claim him._

With a yawn, Tezuka brushed his fingers through Atobe’s hair one last time (so soft) and yielded quietly, gently into sleep and Atobe’s body and, a niggling voice in the back of Tezuka’s head insisted, love.


	14. The Confession That Wasn’t a Date

“Kunimitsu,” Tezuka’s mother said at dinner that night, “you’ll never guess who I ran into at the store today?”

Tezuka shrugged because he honestly had no idea.

“You remember the Satos, who used to live down the street?” his mother said.

Tezuka nodded. “I went to elementary school with their son.”

“That’s right,” Tezuka’s mother said brightly. “It turns out that their daughter, Asako, just started middle school this year.”

Tezuka blinked because why on earth would he care about any of this? And then he _realized_. “I…see,” he said blankly. “Good for her.”

“Isn’t it?” his mother smiled. “I seem to recall that you all played well together when you were young.”

That was one of the strangest stretches Tezuka had heard. The brother had been a bit of a bully, and Tezuka hadn’t paid much attention to him, since they were in different classes; the sister had been a toddler at the time.

“Maybe you two should catch up some time?” his mother asked hopefully.

“I’m busy,” Tezuka insisted and took a sip of his water. “Nationals is coming right up.”

His mother’s smile turned slightly brittle. “After Nationals, then. It’s important not to neglect your social life.”

Tezuka had stayed out late after practice every night that week so far, mostly texting Atobe. Of course, Tezuka’s mother had become more and more watchful of his regular outings with Atobe over the past couple of weeks, ever since Atobe had come over to the house. It had been a mistake, really, on Tezuka’s part to invite Atobe over and think that his mother wouldn’t see through Tezuka’s reactions to Atobe’s physical presence.

“Now’s not a good time,” he reminded her. “I’ll have to transition the team to next year’s captain after Nationals.”

“It never hurts to set these things up early,” she insisted, “for when you’re older.”

At which point, Tezuka’s grandfather snorted and pointed out that Tezuka was only fourteen and still had years before he could even consider marrying, and Tezuka’s father had happily distracted them all with an anecdote about work.

Tezuka had retreated to his room immediately after dinner, though, pleading more homework, and promptly texted Atobe to meet him the next morning. Tezuka stared stupidly at the winking smiley-face Atobe had sent in return along with his nightly “Sweet dreams of me!” and let the reassurance that there someone _else_ out there, that Tezuka himself wanted and his mother didn’t, eventually calm him enough that he could fall asleep.

The next morning, Atobe arrived five minutes earlier than Tezuka had indicated, in a shiny silver sports car, on Tezuka’s doorstep. Tezuka climbed in the back seat beside Atobe before his mother could get wind of what was going on; fortunately, she wasn’t as early a riser as he was.

“Good morning,” Atobe smiled at him softly.

“Good morning,” Tezuka agreed and gave the driver – Geoffrey? Tezuka thought – his directions.

Traffic was dull as usual, and they talked about inconsequential things, mostly what they knew about the out-of-region teams coming in for Nationals. Tezuka’s thorough research combined with Atobe’s endless font of gossip turned out to be an excellent combination, and they ran through a series of scenarios and line-ups, pointedly avoiding discussing their potential head-on collision in the quarter-finals, while Atobe’s driver wound them slowly out of Tokyo traffic.

“Where _are_ we going?” Atobe asked skeptically when civilization thinned out, and soothing green began to predominate the landscape.

“A favorite place of mine,” Tezuka assured him.

Atobe gazed up at Mount Fuji that loomed closer overhead now. “We’re climbing that, aren’t we?” he teased. “Go ahead, Tezuka, you can confess: you’ve just been _aching_ to lug me up a mountain.”

Tezuka smirked but continued to look out his window at the passing landscape. “With the crowds this time of year?” he countered.

“Ah, of course,” Atobe conceded. “My mistake.”

Tezuka’s stomach butterflies did their thing at the thought that Atobe knew him that well now. After their first meeting, if someone had told Tezuka that he’d one day feel _comfortable_ around Atobe, he’d have given them his best skeptical look. But, somehow, despite how Atobe set every nerve in his body ablaze, he _was_ comfortable like this, side-by-side, their fingers just brushing on the seat between them, where Atobe couldn’t help himself but to push Tezuka’s boundaries.

Tezuka gave Atobe’s pinky a deliberate nudge back, and then leaned forward to give the driver detailed directions on the impending series of turn-offs.

Atobe raised one eyebrow pointedly when they arrived at a parking lot in the middle of a forest at the base of…a mountain.

Even Tezuka had to shrug at that. “I decided to settle for lugging you up a _different_ , much-smaller mountain,” he conceded.

Atobe smirked at him, and they left the car and driver behind to wander down the trailhead to the right. Atobe’s car was one of only three in the lot.

“It’s much quieter here in summer,” Tezuka explained, like it needed any explaining.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were taking me to some secluded little glen to have your wicked way with me,” Atobe teased.

Tezuka blushed and picked up the pace.

That, at least, turned Atobe’s gaze sharper, and he settled for competing with Tezuka rather than trying to seduce him.

They reached the look-out nearly two hours later, after discussing school, tennis, family, tennis, friends, tennis, books, tennis, and more tennis. Tezuka had met very few people that could talk about tennis as much as he preferred to; it hadn’t even occurred to him before now, but this was a critical deal-breaker for him.

At a clearing near the summit, there was a wooden bench that seemed to be made out of logs from fallen trees, and Tezuka sat down upon it and pulled out his water bottle. Beside him, Atobe perched with one foot up on the bench next to Tezuka’s thigh, his hand on the back just shy of Tezuka’s recovering shoulder.

The view was spectacular, of course. Mount Fuji was just visible to the far right, and the rest was a panorama of the forest they’d driven and then walked through to get here.

Tezuka pulled a bento out of his backpack and patted the seat beside him. “Sit,” he requested.

Atobe, remarkably, did exactly as ordered to.

Tezuka handed him one of the rice balls he’d made (somewhat messily because Tezuka hadn’t been able to consult his mother without revealing the need for double portions), and they ate together quietly, side-by-side, for a time.

“You probably want to know why I dragged you all the way out here,” Tezuka finally said carefully.

Atobe considered him for a moment and then shrugged. “It’s not so far outside the normal standard deviation of our relationship.”

Tezuka conceded the point with a nod of his head. “I wanted someplace private,” he explained, “where we can talk without being overheard.”

Atobe opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that his family’s estate was just such a place.

“Somewhere where I have the home-court advantage,” Tezuka cut him off.

“Fair enough,” Atobe agreed. “What do you want to talk about?”

Tezuka turned to face him on the bench, and Atobe did likewise, their knees bumping on the wooden seat, and their elbows knocking on the backrest. A part of Tezuka loved Atobe a little bit more for not smirking or flirting just then; it seemed that Atobe sensed that this was a serious matter for Tezuka.

“I just wanted to ask,” Tezuka began, considering his words one by one; he’d thought out much of this conversation beforehand, but he was still wavering on several key points, “where we’re headed with this.”

“I think,” Atobe answered, “we’re headed whenever you want us to be headed. You control the pace of the match at this point, it’s clear.”

Tezuka nodded, because that was certainly true, but it didn’t give him what he needed to know. “If you were setting the pace, where would we go?”

Atobe gave him an incredulous look and then a sweeping gaze that made Tezuka blush.

“Ah, I should clarify.” Tezuka coughed. “I suppose what I’m asking is… What are your intentions toward me?”

Atobe smiled a little at that, and Tezuka did too, because it was ridiculous in a way, but also vital. Atobe thought for a moment. Tezuka appreciated that he was taking his time to think his answer through properly, because Tezuka really had sprung this on him out of the blue.

“I think you know by now,” Atobe finally began, “that I am in love with you.”

Tezuka’s breath caught in his throat, and the whole world seemed to freeze for a moment. He could see Atobe’s lips moving, but no sound seemed to be coming out. Atobe seemed to notice his predicament, because he stopped talking, and waited patiently for Tezuka’s sensory apparatus to return.

Slowly, the rustling of the leaves in the trees and the cries of the cicadas returned.

Tezuka waited another beat just in case, and then nodded. He _had_ known that, although he’d been afraid to let himself think it, because if he’d been _wrong_ , the heartbreak would have been devastating.

“I don’t understand how you can just come out and say things like that,” he finally admitted, “like it’s so easy. I could never… I…”

Tezuka thought that he was probably just a little bit in love with Atobe, too, but the words hung in his throat, unspoken.

Atobe smiled knowingly nonetheless. “I say that I’m in love with you because it’s true. That’s all that matters for me. For you… I think it’s different. There’s more going on.”

Tezuka shrugged and studied the knee of his jeans very intently where he’d brushed up against the rock face earlier and now there was a smudge of dirt.

“You asked me what my intentions are,” Atobe said, calmer now, and Tezuka hadn’t even noticed the swelling emotion in his voice until it was gone. “My intentions are these: I would give you all of me, if you wanted it, for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll fool around with you between practices, if that’s all you want. I’ll accept grudging nods at tournaments, if that’s all you can give. If you never want to see me again, you will break my heart, but I’ll respect your decision. So the answer ultimately remains the same: The ball is entirely in your court. What are _your_ intentions toward _me_?”

That…was an excellent question and – although Tezuka hadn’t realized until just now – the reason he’d brought Atobe up here, to figure out his own answer.

“I’m…not sure,” Tezuka finally admitted, which seemed exceptionally mean, given that Atobe had just confessed so beautifully and unabashedly. “I…have a lot to think about.”

“Tell me,” Atobe requested, and Tezuka figured he owed Atobe at least that much.

“My mother…suspects. No, _knows_ is more like it. She doesn’t approve. She’s…hinting at… She wants me to meet with these girls, and I can’t… I can’t _stay_ in a place like that.”

“You’ve hinted before that the two of you are often at odds,” Atobe said.

Tezuka nodded and then plunged on. “I don’t even… I can’t even _think_ about my grandfather knowing. I think it would destroy him, destroy me, if he ever found out. He’s… My family is very traditional. I would be letting them all down.”

“What about your father?”

“He’s…more lenient than the others. I don’t think he would be happy, but he might not make things too difficult. Maybe. Eventually.”

“You wouldn’t have to tell them, of course,” Atobe pointed out. “We could be a secret.”

Tezuka nodded, because that was the next step in his convoluted plodding through these emotions. “I could do that,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t solve the other problems.”

“What are the other problems?”

“We face each other in Nationals in two weeks. I can’t afford to compromise myself or my team, any more than I already am.”

“Fair enough. That problem solves itself in two weeks.”

“And then, after that…” Tezuka trailed off. “I’m…” He took a deep breath and made the decision that had been hanging on his conscience for some time. “I’m not planning to stay in Japan after that.”

Atobe’s eyes widened, and Tezuka would have savored the moment of having actually surprised Atobe Keigo for once, if not for the severity of the matter to their relationship.

Quickly and carefully, Atobe composed himself once more, and Tezuka could practically _see_ the gears in his head turning.

“Germany?” was the first thing he said.

Tezuka nodded.

“When are you leaving?”

Tezuka shrugged. “Not immediately after Nationals, but before the end of the year. I think. I haven’t finalized the details yet. But you see why I can’t stay. My mother, ironically, agrees to this because she thinks it will get me away from your corrupting influence. I’ve received several pointed warnings now about how someone like you thinks he can buy _anything_.”

Atobe snorted at that. “Like your virginity could possibly be purchased. Your mother seems to know you very poorly.”

Tezuka blushed and looked away, because he _was_ dangerously close to giving Atobe his virginity, just not for the reasons his mother feared.

Atobe tapped his fingers against his forehead thoughtfully, giving Tezuka a moment to recover from his embarrassment. “So, someone had the foresight to scout you while you were out from the watchful eye of your coach,” he concluded.

Tezuka nodded again. “The German junior team has been after me for some time, actually. They’ve offered me a sponsorship into the ATP circuit. Provided I perform adequately in training, of course.”

“Which you will,” Atobe concluded. “You always do. Well, with one notable exception…”

Tezuka blushed at the direction of Atobe’s gaze. It was flirty but cagey all at once, a deliberate misdirection. Atobe was being eminently practical and analytical and for once was not even hinting at his feelings. Tezuka thought that that probably meant that he was hurt. From what Tezuka had seen so far, Atobe didn’t get mad; he got aloof instead.

“I…” Tezuka felt a pang at the distance forming between them. “Don’t?” he finally ventured.

Atobe paused and studied him thoughtfully. Tezuka blushed but reached out and began toying with the loose threads at the bottom of _Atobe’s_ jeans instead. Atobe watched him do this for a little while, as if trying to decipher Tezuka’s stupid brain and its apparent inability to process any feelings normally.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this,” Tezuka finally apologized, looking down at the thread his fingers were unravelling. His thumb accidentally brushed Atobe’s ankle on one twist, and Tezuka couldn’t help thinking that that felt nice, touching Atobe, skin on skin.

Atobe let out a long sigh. “I swear, Tezuka Kunimitsu, you will be the death of me.” His hand brushed Tezuka’s, stopping Tezuka’s nervous (Freudian?) destruction of Atobe’s pants. Their fingers froze like that, tangled together but not quite holding hands.

Tezuka felt his heart pounding in his chest, his blood too loud in his ears, as their fingers curled slowly around each other. _I want him. Even if it’s only for a month or a week or a day or an hour or a moment._ The realization was startling for its clarity, an epiphany of sorts. It wasn’t that Tezuka hadn’t known of his desires before, but this was the first time he’d consciously decided that he was going to act on them someday. Forget being dangerously close; Tezuka knew then that he _would_ give Atobe his virginity, and soon, despite his mother’s dire warnings.

Atobe’s fingers trailed upward until his forefinger rested over the pulse point on Tezuka’s wrist, and a slow smile curved his lips as he interpreted the pounding of Tezuka’s heart. “What would you have me do, Tezuka?” he finally said. “I am yours for the asking.”

“I…” Tezuka found it very hard to think when Atobe was caressing his wrist like that. Although that wasn’t quite true. Tezuka knew what he wanted to say, but he also knew that it was an entirely selfish thing and that he shouldn’t say it aloud.

“Tell me.”

Tezuka looked up at Atobe’s face to see that his eyes were sharp, assessing. He was reading Tezuka in that way that so few people could and that Atobe had always done best.

“If I have not yet earned your trust, have I at least earned your honesty?” Atobe demanded.

Tezuka wet his suddenly dry lips at the _intensity_ burning behind Atobe’s words. “You’ve earned both,” Tezuka finally said. And then: “Keep playing with me?”

Relief washed over Atobe’s features, and inadequate as Tezuka’s words were, he immediately felt warm for having spoken them, for having finally requested something that _he_ genuinely wanted, rather than what he deemed appropriate.

“We’ve played the long-distance game before,” Atobe said, suddenly lighter now. “I can seduce you from across the world as easily as I can here. We may need to up your data-plan, though, for all the pictures I’ll be sending you.”

There was a definite leer at _that_. Tezuka felt his whole face turning red and the tension in his chest release, calm and relaxed now, because _of course_ Atobe could make something that easy, that Tezuka had been fretting inwardly about for weeks. Tezuka considered subcontracting all his emotional quandaries to Atobe from now on, since Atobe was clearly better qualified to handle them.

“That, ah, wouldn’t be entirely appropriate,” Tezuka said.

“That’s entirely the point,” Atobe agreed.

Tezuka had to pull his hand free from Atobe’s to cover the laugh that threatened to escape his lips.

“Someday,” Atobe promised, “I’m going to make you laugh, and you’re not going to hide it from me anymore.”

Tezuka paused then, because it hadn’t occurred to him before that this was a form of withdrawal, too. Atobe _did_ make him laugh a surprising amount, and he _should_ trust Atobe enough to show him that. It was another thing that, perhaps, if Tezuka dwelt on it long enough, he’d finally come out and do.

For now, he just nodded slightly. “Are we still…?” Tezuka blanked at all the potential words that came to mind, none of them quite right.

“Good?” Atobe ventured.

“Good,” Tezuka agreed.

“Good,” Atobe agreed too.

Tezuka had never felt higher than when they made their descent together.


	15. The Pool Party That Wasn’t a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that, up until this point, my Atobe has been dangerously OOC, in that canon!Atobe would _never_ have gone so long without being gratuitously naked and wet for no discernable plot reason. I apologize deeply for this tragic divergence from canon on my part and hope that this chapter will remedy my characterization gaffe. :P (No, seriously, naked!Atobe fanservice was possibly my favorite thing about rewatching PoT from the beginning. There was even more of it than I remembered!)

The moment Tezuka arrived, he realized he’d made a fatal miscalculation.

He’d grown accustomed to Atobe’s flirting over the last couple of months. He’d spent time alone with Atobe in dangerously intimate situations, yet had always been able to contain himself. He’d held his ground against Atobe’s advances in front of his own team, Atobe’s team, and several other teams, for good measure. Tezuka had honestly believed that he had the self-control to attend Atobe’s pool party, despite the fact that Atobe was obviously going to flirt with him in front of all of Seigaku and Hyotei.

But Tezuka had forgotten just one important thing:

Atobe Keigo, like all members of the human species, had _nipples_.

It was the one thing that Tezuka’s yaoi manga hadn’t had the decency to warn him about, and now he understood why they needed to be censored.

Tezuka stared in outright awe at the two brown nubs, placed lickably on Atobe’s broad, tanned, muscled chest and felt every single morsel of self-control he’d ever deluded himself into thinking he possessed fly straight out the window.

Tezuka honestly had no idea how he was going to make it through the next few hours without sucking on at least _one_ of those sexy nipples. It didn’t seem humanly possible.

“Tezuka.” Atobe sounded slightly out of breath, and his hair and trunks were wet. He’d thrown on an unbuttoned (hence the nipples) button-up shirt to answer the door, but Tezuka had little doubt he’d run directly from the pool. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“I said I would.” Tezuka had no idea how he succeeded in forming words.

Some shouting sounded from beyond the French doors at the back of the guest house, and Atobe turned his head to survey the disturbance, giving Tezuka ample opportunity to study the elegant curve of his neck, the stretch of his pectoral muscle, and the way Atobe’s right nipple shifted with the movement of his body into textbook contrapposto pose.

“Your second-years and my third-years are a menace in combination together, I have to say.” Atobe turned back to look at Tezuka and blinked at him twice in surprise.

Tezuka realized belatedly that he was still standing outside the threshold, staring dazedly at Atobe’s chest like a dimwit. He blushed furiously (had he actually thought he’d gotten beyond that finally, after their shared admissions last weekend? How careless of him…) and forced his gaze upward to meet Atobe’s, with great difficulty.

Atobe, never one to miss a beat, breathed out an “oh” and just smirked when he shrugged the shirt back off his shoulders and tossed it carelessly over the back of one of the white leather sofas. “The water’s lovely,” he said and sauntered back toward the glass doors. “Come on in. You can drop your street clothes anywhere.”

Tezuka focused all his brainpower upon this task, because the alternative was to become mesmerized by the sashaying of Atobe’s lean hips as he headed back out into the pool area. Uncharacteristically, the guest house was, indeed, strewn with the cast-offs of what looked to be a dozen-plus teenage boys. Tezuka breathed a sigh of relief at that; Atobe had said he’d only invited the Hyotei and Seigaku regulars for the afternoon, but knowing Atobe, he could just as easily have changed his mind and invited every tennis player in Japan.

Numbly, Tezuka removed his glasses and set them temporarily on the end table (it helped quite a bit with the staring problem when Atobe was converted into a tanned blur) and began his own disrobing process. Atobe froze in the doorway, and Tezuka could see well enough to know that Atobe had turned to face him but not well enough to make out Atobe’s expression.

With a blush, Tezuka focused on removing his socks first (nothing was less sexy than a man wearing socks and nothing else, nearly every single website he’d visited for research on this sort of thing had informed him) and continued by taking off his hoodie, because at least he had a t-shirt under that. Tezuka refused to think far enough ahead to the point where he was actually showing Atobe skin in return.

He folded the light sweatshirt slowly and methodically on the arm of one of the sofas and decided to go with his pants next, using the same logic that at least he had swimming trunks under them. At some point when he was slipping his legs free, he heard a sharp intake of breath from Atobe’s direction, and he looked up in surprise (even though he couldn’t see much), because he couldn’t imagine why Atobe could possibly have—

“You have very long legs,” Atobe said, sounding mildly hoarse.

 _Oh._ Tezuka enjoyed his own moment of revelation, and that finally gave him courage to pull off his t-shirt and put his glasses back on.

Atobe’s gaze was downright _ravenous_ , but then a shriek sounded from the pool, followed by something that sounded very similar to the sound that Momoshiro would make if he attempted to do a cannonball onto Kaidoh, only Kaidoh ducked and Momoshiro instead landed right on Mukahi, and they both nearly drowned to death. It really was a very unmistakable sound.

“Oh, damn…” Atobe said and ran off for the pool.

Tezuka breathed a sigh of relief. It was much safer this way. He just had to get into the concealing water of the pool before Atobe came back to flirt with him some more (because Tezuka had now fully resigned himself to the fact that he was going to encourage Atobe, as much as was humanly possible, to do exactly that all afternoon).

Tezuka nodded to Oishi and Kikumaru, who were holding a volleyball at one end of the (frankly, lavishly huge) pool and seemed to have been playing with Shishido and Ohtori before the explosion of fisticuffs had migrated into the net. “Tezuka,” Fuji said, smiling innocently in one of the beach chairs which circled the pool, and that look was enough for Tezuka to know that, whatever had happened, Fuji had _somehow_ provoked it.

Tezuka grunted in response and headed for the deep end to help Kabaji disentangle Akutagawa from the volleyball net. For some reason, Atobe seemed to be chewing out Oshitari for the incident, but Tezuka didn’t question that in the slightest. Momoshiro and Kaidoh had each other headlocks and were sweeping their way through the pool, knocking anyone under who was so unfortunate enough to be in their path. Echizen leapt out in time, but Kawamura was not so lucky.

Tezuka sighed. Why had Atobe thought this would be a good idea, again? Having freed Akutagawa, Tezuka left him in Kabaji’s capable hands and turned his attention to breaking up Momoshiro and Kaidoh’s altercation. It seemed like a captain’s duties never ended.

Oishi came out of his stupor at that point, and after he and Kawamura failed to pry Momoshiro and Kaidoh apart, Tezuka finally bellowed out, “Twenty laps!” which finally ended the ridiculous situation.

Momoshiro and Kaidoh trudged off dejectedly around the pool house or somewhere, even Tezuka didn’t really know.

Echizen, shit-stirrer that he was, said mockingly, “Nice conflict-mediation skills, Captain,” so that Tezuka almost ordered _him_ to run laps, too.

Behind Echizen’s shoulder, Inui, with zinc cream on both cheeks, said, “Hmm, good data…” and scribbled something in his Tezuka notebook.

Tezuka shut his eyes tight for one second because he could be at home reading a good book right now, or he and Atobe could be alone somewhere quiet, where Tezuka could brush his thumb over those pert nipples and then lean in closer to…

Tezuka came out of his daze when, suddenly, he found his head drenched with pool water.

“Splash contest!” Kikumaru shouted out. “Captains are worth triple! Vice-captains are worth double!”

“Hey!” Oishi said in wide-eyed horror as Kikumaru turned to splash him, too.

Fuji, Echizen, and Inui all practically fell over themselves to jump into the pool after _that_ , and Tezuka spent the next who-knows-how-many minutes having water thrown in his face every which way he turned.

The only consolation was that he heard, somewhere across the pool, Atobe complaining, “I did _not_ agree to this!” incredibly petulantly.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an obscenely hot Sunday afternoon.

Eventually, Seigaku grew bored with tormenting him, and Momoshiro and Kaidoh arrived back from their laps, and most everyone returned to the aborted pool-volleyball game. Tezuka was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when a thunderous splash impacted right beside him, sending yet another wave careening straight into his face.

Tezuka sputtered in indignation, and then a head bobbed up to the surface far too close to Tezuka’s face, impertinent smirk in place.

“I heard captains are worth triple,” Atobe teased, and then sheepishly: “Repeatedly. For about ten minutes straight. Even from _Hiyoshi_.”

There was only one rational response to Atobe cannonballing him. Tezuka reached out, grabbed the top of Atobe’s head, and dunked him under the water.

Atobe squirmed and wriggled against him and then slipped out of Tezuka’s grip like an eel, their limbs colliding amid quite a lot of inelegant thrashing and shoving in the water. They eventually both managed to get their heads up out of the water at the same time, sputtering and – in Atobe’s case – laughing from sheer joy. Even Tezuka couldn’t fight the smile that crept upon his lips and, for once, didn’t bother to try.

“You see now,” Atobe teased, pressing Tezuka’s body back against the edge of the pool, “the advantages of rough-housing.”

Tezuka cast a covert glance left and right, but no one was paying them the slightest attention. Given that half the inhabitants of the pool were tangled in just as close quarters amid various (presumably less amorous) altercations, Tezuka realized that he and Atobe didn’t particularly stand out.

“Perhaps,” he conceded and, under the water, carefully, deliberately rested one hand on the side of Atobe’s waist, where no one else would be able to see it. “You may have convinced me.”

Atobe’s smile turned sultry, and he leaned in closer so that their chests were pressed together and their lips mere millimeters apart. “No one’s looking,” he purred seductively. “Where would you like to touch me?”

Tezuka felt a whole-body shudder run down his spine. Atobe was right; even the closeness of their mouths now wasn’t atypical; given that everyone had to get up in each other’s faces to be heard over all the shouting in the pool, nearly all conversations were occurring from this distance.

Tezuka paused, considered, reconsidered, and then carefully his free hand – the one not adorning Atobe’s hip – reached up to trace a droplet of water from Atobe’s collarbone down his chest. The droplet dipped toward the center at that point, and Tezuka’s thumb diverged from its path to instead skim just around Atobe’s right nipple.

Atobe let out a gasp in response, and his eyelids fluttered closed, as if awash in ecstasy.

Tezuka froze, and his gaze was diverted to Atobe’s face instead. Tezuka had honestly thought that nothing could distract him from the sight of Atobe’s bare chest, but _that face_ , those lips parted softly, sweetly, delicate as rosebuds and perfectly curved… Tezuka had never seen anything more alluring, more beautiful, in all his life.

Suddenly just touching Atobe seemed inadequate; Tezuka wanted to _taste_ , too, wanted their mouths joined, and their bodies…

Tezuka was saved from the image of exactly what he wanted their bodies to be doing to each other by the word “MARCO!” screamed, at the top of Shishido’s lungs, inches from his ear.

Shishido’s hand impacted with Atobe’s shoulder moments later, and he opened his eyes victoriously. “Tag! You’re it!” he crowed with delight.

Atobe gave him an annoyed look. “I’m not even playing.”

“Atobe’s it!” Taki shouted out, and half a dozen boys dove underwater for the next round in response.

Atobe gave Tezuka a sheepish look, “Catch you later,” and closed his eyes before chasing after them.

Tezuka breathed out slowly with his back still to the pool edge. He leaned his head back against the tile, chin tilted upward so that the sunlight shone through his closed eyelids. His trunks were visibly tented under the water, and his cheeks were flushed, and he felt _amazing_.

He took a good, long moment to compose himself and then opened his eyes just as Oishi called out, “Hey, Tezuka! We need a fourth person for even teams!”

Tezuka looked over to see that Momoshiro had abandoned volleyball for what seemed like a game of water keep-away with Echizen’s cap. Atobe was still preoccupied trying to corner Mukahi at the far end of the pool, so Tezuka nodded to Oishi and joined in.

Tezuka let himself get absorbed in the game for a time. Then Atobe somehow sneaked onto the opposing team at some point, which turned Tezuka’s play downright vicious. However, shortly thereafter food arrived, so most everyone escaped the pool to stuff their faces.

Atobe, for a pleasant change, did not actually own enough beach chairs for all 18 of them, so several people had to end up sharing. Atobe actually looked put-out by this, a little frown marring his brow, before Tezuka said, “Scoot over,” and squeezed himself into the beach chair with Atobe. _That_ seemed to change Atobe’s opinion of the chair shortage 180°.

They slurped together at watermelon in an entirely undignified manner and then Tezuka – following the brilliance that only doubles players could come up with – decided that it would be a wonderful idea to get his chairmate sticky by touching him while Tezuka’s hands were covered in watermelon juice and ice cream, and Atobe screeched and flailed but never really succeeded in escaping from Tezuka’s wandering hands somehow.

A tickle-fight ensued soon thereafter, which Tezuka easily won because he wasn’t ticklish and Atobe apparently was _extremely_ ticklish. Atobe laughed and writhed in Tezuka’s arms, but refused to beg for mercy even when he was gasping for oxygen. Tezuka finally relented because he didn’t _really_ want to break Atobe’s pride, even though it was fun to play at it for a while.

Atobe slumped back against Tezuka’s chest in relief when it was over, and he’d managed to insert himself into the curve of Tezuka’s arm at some point, so that now they were quite cuddled up together.

Tezuka’s glanced around nervously, but their ~~fore~~ play had apparently encouraged several others, and Mukahi currently had Oshitari in stitches, while Fuji’s fingers hovered with benign malevolence two inches away from Kawamura’s side which, in itself, seemed to be enough to set him laughing. Echizen was trying very poorly to pretend he wasn’t ticklish like Tezuka, but sweat was breaking out on his brow from trying to keep a straight face, while Momoshiro and Kikumaru tormented him and Inui took notes.

“See?” Atobe smiled lazily against the curve of Tezuka’s neck.

“Hmm?” Tezuka said contentedly and shifted Atobe’s weight slightly so at least some blood circulation could get to his arm. After all, he’d been needing that arm next week.

“Did I not tell you that you should come to my party?”

“You did,” Tezuka agreed.

“And did I not promise you that you would have a good time?”

“You did,” Tezuka conceded.

“And,” Atobe’s voice lowered to a delicious, husky rumble, “are you not enjoying yourself immensely?” His hand slid between them where no one could see and just lightly brushed one of _Tezuka’s_ nipples in counterpoint.

“Yes…” Tezuka agreed in awe at the sensations that flooded his body at just that one simple caress. If Atobe could do that with just one finger, what would it feel like when…?

“So,” Atobe concluded airily, giving Tezuka the reprieve that Tezuka had granted Atobe mere minutes before and deliberately extricating himself back out of the danger zone, “does it not follow that you should entrust your pleasure to me from now on?” His gaze was downright _smoldering_.

Tezuka nodded and conceded, “Maybe.”

Atobe smiled like it was a victory anyway.


	16. The Sex Talk That Wasn’t a Date

> Atobe (1:15:24 PM): What are you doing?  
>  Tezuka (1:15:51 PM): Nothing. What are you doing?  
>  Atobe (1:16:22 PM): Nothing.  
>  Atobe (1:16:31 PM): Want to come over? ~_^  
>  Tezuka (1:16:58 PM): That smiley looks nefarious.  
>  Atobe (1:17:29 PM): My smiley resents your accusation!  
>  Tezuka (1:18:06 PM): …  
>  Tezuka (1:18:12 PM): You’re very weird.  
>  Atobe (1:18:41 PM): My weirdness resents your accusation. ^_^  
>  Atobe (1:19:01 PM): Do you want to come over?  
>  Atobe (1:19:21 PM): We can just watch tennis or something, if you’re freaked out after the pool party.  
>  Atobe (1:19:39 PM): Or we can fool around with no parental supervision if you’re NOT freaked out. ~_^  
>  Tezuka (1:19:57 PM): I maintain that that is a nefarious smiley.  
>  Atobe (1:20:08 PM): But do you want to come over? ~_^  
>  Tezuka (1:20:13 PM): OK

That was how Atobe had ended up lying on one couch in the TV room, with Tezuka lying on the one at a perfect right-angle to it, their heads sharing the same overstuffed pillow where the two sofas converged, watching all the games Atobe had recorded from that year’s Wimbledon. Tezuka had only watched the semi-finals and finals live, so it was turning into a productive afternoon (for Tezuka) and a delightful one (for Atobe). Although one part of Atobe had been secretly hoping that Tezuka _was_ coming over for more nefarious purposes. 

They’d decided to pick one player (from Germany, so that Tezuka could listen to all his interviews) and follow him through all his matches up to the semi-finals. Atobe was not-so-secretly hoping this would turn into a series of events, because he had a nearly limitless tennis library to lure Tezuka over to his house with.

Tezuka didn’t commentate as much as Atobe did, but he grunted his agreement often enough, and every so often he’d predict that someone was getting careless, with brilliant accuracy as always. Atobe found himself falling into a lull as the afternoon wore on, slow and lazy, where he was half drifting off during a particularly long rally and half waiting for Tezuka’s next dry commentary.

“Have you ever done this before?” Tezuka asked.

“Hmm, yes,” Atobe agreed. And then, coming awake just a little, “I mean… Done what?”

Tezuka’s eyes never left the ball on the giant TV monitor. “Involved yourself,” he said in perfect monotone, and then for clarification, “with another man.”

Atobe blinked open his eyes because this was sounding suspiciously like an important relationship talk, and he needed all his faculties for that. “Yeah,” he finally agreed carefully, “I have. Why?”

“Is it…?” Tezuka began, and then: “What’s it…?” And then, after another pause, “I’ve been researching, on the internet, although I know it’s not necessarily a reliable source. I still don’t know what to expect.” The entire time, Tezuka never stopped watching the match. He also didn’t blush, for a change. If tennis was the distraction Tezuka needed to finally have this conversation, who was Atobe to object?

Atobe took a deep breath, because that sounded an awful like Tezuka admitting that one day (soon?) they would finally have sex. “What are your questions?” he asked, dancing as lightly as he could around the sensitive topic.

“Does it hurt?” Tezuka asked first, which was reasonable enough.

“It can hurt, quite a lot, if your partner’s not careful,” Atobe admitted. “But it _shouldn’t_ hurt, and don’t ever believe anybody who tells you that it should.”

Tezuka turned to look at him in surprise at that, a slight furrow to his brow, like he couldn’t ever imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to be careful with Atobe. Atobe nearly laughed at that expression for sheer joy at how _different_ Tezuka was from all his previous lovers.

“Do you…?” Tezuka finally began somewhat nervously.

“Want to talk about it?” Atobe suggested.

Tezuka nodded once.

“Not particularly,” Atobe sighed.

Tezuka turned back to the game.

“But we probably should, at some point.”

Tezuka nodded again.

“Approximately half the people who know me fantasize about forcing my face into the asphalt and fucking me raw right on the courts,” Atobe said, half bitter and half bragging. “Out of morbid curiosity, I’ve indulged a couple of the better-looking ones in certain, slightly less abrasive, variations of the fantasy. Although I can’t particularly say it’s to my taste.”

Tezuka was perfectly still, no doubt trying to think of a way to respond to a statement like _that_. There really weren’t any good responses, so Atobe was particularly pleased when Tezuka returned with, “Only _half_ the people who know you?”

Atobe smirked at the bait set and taken. “The other half, of course, fantasize about _me_ forcing _their_ face into the ground and fucking them raw.”

Tezuka snorted. “And is that more to your taste?”

“Meh,” Atobe said with a bored wave of his hand.

Tezuka looked at him in surprise.

“Don’t get me wrong: Sex is sex. But power games get tedious after a while. Also, people who like to be dominated tend to be a bit needy. Especially the girls.”

Tezuka coughed in disbelief at that, and finally got out hoarsely, “You’ve been with _girls_?”

Atobe looked at him in surprise. “Boys and girls,” he agreed. “I don’t discriminate with my gifts, as long as I’m given the best in return.” He eyed Tezuka up and down pointedly.

Tezuka, finally, blushed. “Why would you even see boys, then?” he demanded. “If I could choose, I’d pick the convenient option in a heartbeat. Don’t you worry about disappointing your parents?”

Atobe raised one eyebrow. “I generally don’t pick my bedpartners based on _convenience_. _That_ would disappoint my parents far more than the gender of my partner.”

“Ah,” Tezuka said, “I had forgotten how, er… _unconventional_ your family was.”

“Was that Tezuka for ‘nuts’?” Atobe asked curiously.

Tezuka focused with laser attention on the TV screen. Even though it was the break between sets.

Atobe sighed. “It’s not like I choose a gender and then pick from there. More like, someone catches my eye, and I don’t give a damn about which gender they are.”

Tezuka’s cheeks were flushing again. “Does it…feel good?” he asked. “With other boys, I mean. I don’t really care about with girls.”

Atobe snickered. “Yes, it feels very good with boys. Both ways.”

Atobe swore he saw Tezuka shiver at that. “Which way is better?” Tezuka finally asked, his voice sounding a bit reedy.

“That…” Atobe frowned, “is like trying to compare apples and oranges. Whichever way I’m doing it at that time, I suppose.”

Tezuka frowned. “But then how do you determine…?”

“Tezuka,” Atobe said, trying to keep too much of the laughter out of his voice because he didn’t want to put Tezuka off, “this isn’t one of your yaoi manga. I’m not seme or uke, and from what I know of you, I highly doubt you’re seme or uke, either.”

Tezuka was silent for a while. “That would certainly answer a number of questions, if I _wasn’t_ either.”

“There are a thousand varieties of sex and roles,” Atobe told him, “most of which I haven’t even tried. Part of the fun with a new partner is figuring out how the two of you fit together.”

“Oh?” Tezuka glanced at Atobe out of the corner of his eye quickly, just the once.

“The only real thing that matters, in the end, is how much you care for each other. Maybe it’s just me, but I always have the best sex with the people I like the best. I would very much like to know someday what it’s like to bed a man I genuinely _love_.” There, that was a solid suggestion, but not too much of a proposition that Tezuka would pull away.

Indeed, Tezuka was still for a good minute but eventually relaxed back into the couch cushions, his attention obviously back on the game. It seemed Tezuka’s curiosity was sated for now, and if Atobe were the weak-minded sort, he might almost have believed the whole conversation had never occurred.

Every so often, though, Tezuka would give him the coyest look while they argued about a point, or his hand would brush Atobe’s deliberately when they both reached for the remote at the same time, and there was a give-and-take there. Tezuka was trying to work out just how the two of them fit.

And, even if nothing had happened yet, Atobe could already tell that the figuring was going to be very fun, indeed.


	17. The Shared Shower That Wasn’t a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nationals, at last! Also more wet and naked Atobe. I'm sure everyone objects strenuously to this. :P

Atobe leaned his elbows against the shower wall, pressed his forehead against the cool tiles, and let the icy water pound down on the back of his neck. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this exhausted, like everything had been leeched out of him and was spiraling down the drain. He didn’t even remember how the match had ended, only that his mind had blurred and that when he’d finally come to, it was all over. He’d have to return the favor to Tezuka’s brat one of these days, for that and for other things too.

Gingerly, he reached up with one hand and ran it over his shorn scalp. Let it never be said that Atobe’s stupid ego would allow him to renege on an even stupider bet.

Atobe let his hand drop again and closed his eyes. Eventually, he was going to be able to move properly, he reassured himself. It wasn’t like he’d siphoned off all the energy for the rest of his _life_.

Dimly, in the background, he could hear the muffled voices of his teammates from the adjoining locker room. It hadn’t ended up being such a hot season for Hyotei, after all. It would be easier, Atobe thought, if he could hate Seigaku. Childish vindictiveness was surprisingly cathartic. But thoughts of Seigaku led naturally to thoughts of Seigaku’s tantalizing captain, and Atobe didn’t think there was any force in this world that could make him hate Tezuka. Rather the opposite, which was especially unfortunate at times like these.

With a sigh and groan, Atobe finally turned the water back to scalding hot and pried himself up off the shower wall. Five minutes of wallowing in self-pity was about all he could manage for the year.

At least, he thought to himself, shorter hair was a lot faster to shampoo. He scrubbed the sweat and grime and the occasional cut end that hadn’t fallen to the court at the end of his and Echizen’s little bet and began to feel a lot more like himself.

Behind him, he heard the door to the shower room open – undoubtedly Yushi come to whine about how Atobe was being slow and now owed Yushi some new, inventive form of mooching because of how he’d be late to something-or-other implausible.

“I’ll just be a minute, Yushi,” he called over his shoulder. “Can’t a man get a quiet shower around here?”

“I’m not Oshitari,” a deep voice rumbled down to Atobe’s groin. “I’m hoping that’s still a good thing.”

Atobe shuddered once, slowly, all the way down the length of his spine, and he turned the water sharply back to cold again in a vain attempt to cover his body’s natural reaction to Tezuka’s presence. “I suppose that depends on what you plan to do to me, now that you’ve cornered me naked, alone, wet, and defenseless,” he managed airily.

Behind him, Tezuka snorted. “I sincerely doubt that you’re ever defenseless.”

“Your freshman seems to have found his moment,” Atobe retorted and reached for the soap.

He was stopped by Tezuka’s hand on his wrist. He’d thought that perhaps Tezuka had just come by so that they could congratulate each other on a match well-played. Looking at Tezuka now, though, Tezuka was wearing only a towel, clearly heading for the showers himself.

Atobe frowned. “I thought Seigaku was in Shower Room B.”

“We are,” Tezuka agreed and stepped into the shower beside Atobe.

For approximately one millisecond, Atobe debated being a gentleman and not looking when Tezuka removed his towel. And then he promptly decided _‘fuck that!’_ because it had been a long, tiring day. _Nice_ , Atobe’s mind provided stupidly as he admired just how far down Tezuka’s blush could go.

“Yushi let you in?” Atobe guessed aloud.

“He seemed more than a little amused at me sneaking into your shower room,” Tezuka conceded. “Kabaji is the one who let me in, though.”

Atobe smiled to himself. “Kabaji’s a good friend,” he said simply and left it at that.

“How are you?” Tezuka asked softly. He removed his glasses, folded them neatly on one of the shower shelves, and stuck his head under the spray.

“Mmfg,” Atobe answered, letting the water run down his face too, his eyes squeezed shut tight.

He started, then relaxed, when he felt Tezuka’s hand just brush his hair, above his ear, tentative but so promising of things to come. He leaned in for one glorious moment and let Tezuka scratch his scalp soothingly.

“It’s so soft,” Tezuka breathed in awe. “Do you do something to make it like that? Or…?”

“No,” Atobe said, “that’s the natural texture. It’s softer when the air is more humid, of course. Curlier, too.”

“Not quite long enough to run my fingers through anymore,” Tezuka sounded disappointed.

Atobe snorted. “It’ll grow out fast.”

“Hmm,” Tezuka sighed and pulled away.

Atobe shivered at the loss of his touch and switched the water back to hot. It wasn’t like the cold water was doing anything to alleviate his erection, what with Tezuka standing right next to him, naked, touching him.

“I just heard that Rikkaidai won their quarter-final match,” Tezuka said and reached for the soap.

Atobe followed suit, admiring the way the suds trailed down the elegant curve of Tezuka’s spine, down the lean slope of his ass, and occasionally delving down into the crevice in between.

“Kick Sanada’s ass for me,” Atobe requested.

Tezuka sighed. “You must be disappointed…” he began.

“What? That you stood me up and sent Echizen in your place? Why on earth would I be disappointed?”

“You’re disappointed,” Tezuka said matter-of-factly this time.

“That depends. _Are_ you planning on playing Sanada in the finals?”

“There’s still the semi-finals. I’m not letting my guard down yet.”

“When do you ever?” Atobe asked, perhaps a bit cattily.

“I’d like to…” A pause. “Maybe.” A second pause. “Someday.” Atobe waited the last pause out so long that eventually even Tezuka shrugged and yielded: “With you.”

Atobe turned toward him and reached out carefully to trail his fingers down Tezuka’s bare shoulder, right where the joint was the weakest. Tezuka allowed this with perfect equanimity, but a quick glance downward revealed that Tezuka was hardly as unaffected as his expression might indicate.

“Would you?” Atobe finally asked coyly.

Tezuka gulped and nodded. “Tennis is tennis. I have to put in the line-up that I think is best for my team, not just myself. And I’ll always have other rivals.”

“Very passionate ones,” Atobe agreed with clenched teeth.

“But you are…” Tezuka broke off, dithered quite a lot, and Atobe finally turned away from him to finish his shower. Honestly, tortoises moved more quickly than Tezuka did with anything that remotely touched upon emotions. And then, to Atobe’s absolute shock and amazement: “I think I like you,” Tezuka confessed out of the blue.

Atobe stood there stunned as the world collapsed and reformed around him. A new world in which _Tezuka liked him_ (back). “I…” he began, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t had confessions before. Dozens, actually. But never one like this. Never from someone who _mattered_. Atobe had played long and hard with the rules of seduction, but he’d never _felt_ like this, for another person, so much so that he was terrified and exhilarated all at once.

“I’ve never felt anything like this,” Tezuka admitted, looking away shyly. “I don’t know what to do.”

Part of Atobe wanted to rail, because that was _his trick_ , damn it! Seeing through his opponent and echoing their innermost thoughts and fears. A voice at the back of Atobe’s head starting chanting: _Just like me. He’s just like me._ It would be so very nice not to be _alone_ anymore in the constant crowd that flocked to him.

“ _Tezuka_ …” Atobe finally managed to say, and really nothing else.

“Are you okay?” Tezuka actually sounded concerned. “That is, if it’s not okay, I can…” he trailed off predictably.

And Atobe realized then that Tezuka was actually _unsure_ , which was so ridiculous that he almost burst out laughing, except that that would surely confuse Tezuka even further. “Tezuka,” Atobe informed him sternly, leaning in close and cupping Tezuka’s cheek in one palm, “never once doubt the depths of my regard for you. Every feeling you have for me is returned tenfold, I assure you.”

“ _Atobe_ …” Tezuka finally breathed out, and the warmth of his breath tickled Atobe’s thumb. “I…”

Atobe waited patiently for whatever impassioned words had stilled on Tezuka’s lips, but eventually even he had to admit that Tezuka wasn’t going to finish that delightful thought. “Hmm?” he finally prodded.

“Hmm,” was all Tezuka said in response.

The two of them hovered together, Atobe’s palm still cupping Tezuka’s cheek, their bodies almost touching but not quite, as if waiting for gravity or electromagnetism or some other cosmic force to pull them together.

Atobe finally came to the conclusion that Tezuka was never going to make the first move, and he was going to have to, when Tezuka suddenly reached up to cup Atobe’s cheek in return. “May I…?” Tezuka asked tentatively.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Atobe exclaimed in exasperation. “After dragging it out all this time, you don’t need to _ask permission_!”

Tezuka chuckled to himself and leaned in, and Atobe’s eyelashes fluttered shut, and this was going to be absolutely perfect…

And then Yushi finally really _did_ barge in.

“The Kabuto regulars are coming into the showers in about one minute,” he warned, and then evilly when he saw the position they were in: “You might want to clear out, seeing as you’re obviously not getting laid today, either.”

Tezuka snorted and pulled back with an apologetic wince.

Atobe glowered at Yushi, who just waggled his eyebrows, the cheeky bastard. Even worse, Yushi had a point. The two of them certainly didn’t want to be caught out by an unknown team. Hastily, they finished their showers.

“I don’t suppose you're going to say it again anytime soon?” Atobe asked Tezuka, pushing his luck.

Tezuka just smirked to himself and wrapped his towel back around his waist.

“I’ll hold you to those words,” Atobe called after him.

“I’m counting on it,” Tezuka said, and actually _winked_ at him on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading so far! :)


	18. The Victory Celebration That, OK, Technically WAS a Date

Tezuka had never experienced another moment like it. The elation was overwhelming, overpowering, and before he knew it, he was surrounded by a mass of his teammates – regulars and sub-regulars who must have jumped down onto the courts from the stands – and everyone was hugging and laughing, and it was all a bit hysterical, but for once in Tezuka’s life, he didn't mind.

Finally, after three years and what had seemed like infinite patience and suffering, Seigaku had won the National championship.

Kikumaru, naturally, was one of the first to leap on Tezuka, and Tezuka hugged him back instinctively. And then there was Inui and Oishi and Fuji and Kawamura (who seemed to be in some kind of disturbing ‘burning with victory’ mode) and Momoshiro and Kaidoh (who forgot to be shy or embarrassed) and even Echizen. At some point, some first-years latched on to Tezuka’s waist, and Tezuka hugged them back too, because everyone was running on pure adrenaline at that point.

It degenerated quite quickly into wild cheering then, and throwing various members of the team up on everyone’s shoulders, and Tezuka took his turn up in the air with an almost-laugh. He even forgot to criticize the first half of Echizen’s match with Yukimura when the second (or was it third?) round of hugs came around, and before Tezuka knew what was happening, Tachibana was there pumping Tezuka’s hand and congratulating him, so Tezuka hugged _him_ , too.

That prolonged everything again, because apparently _all_ the other teams had invaded the courts, and Tezuka had run by Shiraishi, Sengoku, Akazawa, Chitose, Kajimoto, and some young gooney-looking kid that Saeki later informed Tezuka was Rokkaku’s freshman captain.

Tezuka was so completely swept up in the moment that he didn’t even realize until three hugs later, with Oishi again for the fifth(?) time, that he’d actually hugged _Mizuki_ in a fit of temporary insanity.

At some point in the chaos, Yukimura had slipped in and given Tezuka a polite but subdued handshake through gritted teeth.

Several minutes later, it was Sanada with a curt “good game” and a self-satisfied look that made Tezuka want to hunt the bastard down once he’d worked out the strategies around the phantom better, and beat the bastard for _good_ this time.

Then one of Fudomine’s doubles teams (Tezuka was embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t remember which) leapt on him, and Rikkaidai’s loss was swept once more into the background.

It wasn’t until Hyotei’s Akutagawa glomped Tezuka with a laugh (seriously? Tezuka wasn’t even aware that the two of them were officially acquainted) that Tezuka noticed that someone besides Rikkaidai was conspicuously absent from the celebrations.

Tezuka tried to look around, but it seemed that Kikumaru had taken up residence atop Inui’s head, and Fuji was now being paraded around on Kawamura and Momoshiro’s shoulders, and Oishi and Kaidoh were jumping up and down holding hands like teenage girls. All of this made it very difficult to see.

Tezuka caught a flash of a purple uniform, but that was just Shishido and Ohtori pulling Kikumaru down off Inui’s head, so that they could pound his back and then they were all hugging, too.

Off to the right, Kabaji’s head towered over the swarming mass of teenagers until someone (it looked like Fuji) pulled _him_ down into the bedlam as well.

Tezuka started in that direction (because it was the most logical guess to make), but he was waylaid by Toyama, who rattled off a series of bizarre questions (from “what does it feel like to win Nationals?” which was sensible enough, to “what does the trophy taste like?” which left Tezuka utterly befuddled). By the time Tezuka made it to where Kabaji had been, that place was occupied by Fuji’s brother, who looked embarrassed but hugged Tezuka anyway, and Dan from Yamabuki, who performed the strangest cheer Tezuka had ever witnessed, involving quite a lot of arm-flailing and leg-kicking, until he knocked himself, Tezuka, and half of Higa over into a tangled mass of limbs on the court.

Tezuka finally managed to pull back out of the ball of laughing teens with hands up from Tachibana and Oshitari.

“Ah,” Tezuka said in relief when Oshitari (who faced the same peril Tezuka did in such situations) returned Tezuka’s glasses to him safely, “where is—?”

But then Mukahi leapt on Oshitari’s back, which didn’t even make _sense_ since their team had lost, and both of them vanished back into the crowd before Tezuka could finish his question.

Tezuka had just about given up on the whole situation at that point, because it was impossible to find _anyone_ in this crowd, when there was the slightest lull in the racket off to one side, which let Tezuka hear clearly, “Hey, Monkey King.”

Tezuka froze and turned in that direction. Momoshiro and Kamio were hopping up and down, laughing, but every time they came down, Tezuka could see, at the base of the referee’s chair, Atobe leaning back against one of the supports with his arms crossed, watching the festivities with amused distance, and Echizen facing him with a smug look.

Tezuka plowed his way through most of Shitenhoji, one of the teams that he thought had lost to Rikkaidai in the first round, and another hug from Oishi (the eighth?).

Tezuka only caught glimpses of Atobe through this all, like an old, jerky film reel with some of the intervening stock motion missing. One of Echizen’s fangirls’ pompoms flew by, and then a glimpse of Atobe unfolding his arms; Kikumaru cartwheeled in front of him, Echizen gave Atobe a very contained squeeze, then Mukahi’s cartwheel followed Kikumaru, and Atobe’s arms were around Echizen, too.

“Beating you is fun,” Echizen was saying into Atobe’s shirt when Tezuka _finally_ escaped the rampaging horde. “We should do it again sometime.” And then Echizen turned to notice Tezuka just standing there like an idiot, _gaping_ at Atobe. “Ah. Captain.” He gave Tezuka a quick hug, too, that Tezuka returned instinctively, and then stepped out from between Tezuka and Atobe with a knowing smirk. At that point, Momoshiro’s hand launched itself out from the crowd, grabbed Echizen by the collar, and dragged him kicking, flailing, and “Momo-senpai’ing” back into the fray.

“A-Atobe,” Tezuka said.

“Tezuka,” Atobe said and held out his fist.

Tezuka bumped it with his own and then stepped closer, so that _he_ didn’t get pulled back in, as well. Atobe was still leaning back against the poles that held up the referee’s chair, and Tezuka came up to lean against his body, their chests just brushing.

Atobe sighed and opened his legs so that Tezuka could slide in between them, and then their groins were brushing too, and Tezuka could feel that Atobe was as suddenly hard as he was.

“Thank you,” Tezuka said softly, inches from Atobe’s lips, and his arms slid around Atobe’s waist to hold him close, “for everything.”

“Well played,” Atobe said, his arms encircling Tezuka’s neck, “although maybe not so much your match with Sanada.”

Tezuka tilted his head and leaned in to breathe in the smell of Atobe’s cologne against the curve of his neck, that sensual combination of musk, spices, and roses that had come to drive Tezuka absolutely mad. And then Tezuka let out a whoop of laughter and lifted Atobe clear off his feet, his hands clutching the globes of Atobe’s ass in each palm, as he spun Atobe around once, twice, and a third time for good measure.

Atobe laughed back, and his legs wrapped tightly around Tezuka’s waist, just _letting_ Tezuka have his way this once and, if anything, that just made Tezuka _harder_.

Tezuka finally had to set Atobe down because he wasn’t light (in fact, despite Tezuka’s slight advantage in height, with Atobe’s advantage in musculature, Tezuka was reasonably certain Atobe was the heavier of the two of them), feeling dizzy, giddy, and very much in love.

Atobe looked at Tezuka with dark eyes, once they were bound to the earth once more. “I’m throwing a season-end party tonight.” He slipped a card into Tezuka’s pocket. “Just down the street. Hyotei’s been spreading invitations. _Everyone’s_ invited. Especially you.”

“The season’s over,” Tezuka breathed against Atobe’s lips. “I suppose there are no longer any official reasons that Seigaku’s now-retired captain couldn’t attend a party with the now-retired captain of one of Seigaku’s former rivals.”

“Why, Tezuka,” Atobe said coyly, “that sounds dangerously like a date.”

“Yes, it is,” Tezuka agreed warmly. “Be my date for the party?”

Atobe eyes widened, and then his cheeks flushed, and he finally looked at Tezuka again almost shyly. “Why Tezuka,” he agreed with the tenderest smile Tezuka had ever seen, “I thought you’d never ask.”

If Tezuka had thought that nothing could feel more elating than finally winning Nationals, he’d been wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And then there was no porn. Just kidding! I totally wrote the porn. :P It was originally going to be an epilogue to this fic, but it turned into an absolute monster, so I eventually decided I needed to break it into its own fic. It's titled 'Conjunction' and it's up now, just click Next Work in either of the series links below.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's been reading, kudosing, and/or commenting! I appreciate all the kind words I've gotten along the way. This is the longest fic I've written in almost 10 years, and the longest I've ever written in PoT. To say that I was intimidated to try it, is an understatement. :) Especially since I foolishly wrote the fic that comes after it first, and had to keep myself to a number of rules in order to maintain continuity. There were many times when I wanted to strangle Atobe for saying '17 dates' (really, it couldn't be 14? or some other shorter, easier number?). Also, other later fics in this series established that Atobe and Tezuka couldn't even _kiss_ in this one, which became increasingly harder with each chapter. (Thanks, Yushi, for saving me last chapter! :P) Overall, I've had a fun time writing this, and I hope everyone else has enjoyed reading!
> 
> And, just in case you somehow forgot, click Next Work below for the sex. :P


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